MONTEZUMA 


fi&AM  HOT*  RICHMOND 


LIRR^VRV 

OF   THK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


OIFST  OK 


Received 

Accession  No. 


.  189 

No. 


MONTEZUMA. 


A  N    EPIC 


THK     ORIGIN     AND     FATt 


AZTEC    NATION. 


H  I  K  A  M      H  O  V  T     RICH  M  O  ND. 


TJKIVBRSIIT 


SAN  FRANCISCO  : 
GOLDEN    ERA    CO 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1883,  by  II.    H.    Richmond,    at 
the  office  of  the  Libr.inan  of  Congress. 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED, 


TO 

HUJKKT    HOWE   BANCROFT, 

The  pains-taking  historian  and   the  one  of  all  others  who  induced 
to  a  final  effort 

THIS  BOOK, 

Hy  his  grateful  friend  and  ardent  partisan, 
THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


EGYPT. 

PAGE. 

The  Dispersal  at  Shinar. .  . 

Sojourn  in  Egypt 

Sun  Worship 

Expulsion  from  Egypt 

Mizraim  and  Lud 

The  Mourning  Shepherds. .  . 

The  Journey 43 

AZTLAN. 

The  Valley  of  the  Mississippi 53 

The  Morning  Song  of  the  Mound  Builders -59 

The  Evening  Thanksgiving  and  Prayer 61 

The  Prophet:s  Death 

Departure  of  Wabun  .  .  . 

Return  and  Strife •    79 

Prehistoric  Rendezvous  of  the  Aztecs .  . 

The  Toltecs  Journey  South 

The  Aztecs— Aztlan 

AN  AH  U  AC. 

The  Aztec's  Journey  and  Settlement  South 102 

The  Empire  of  Montezuma 105 

The  Landing  of  the  Spaniards .  . 
Arrival  of  the  Spaniards  at  Mexico. 

Death  of  Montezuma •  !34 

Conclusion 

Malinche I5I 

The  Harp  oi"  the  West 


ARGUMENT   OF   THK    POEM. 


From  the  moment  of  my  earliest  acquaintance  with  Col 
onial  History,  I  have  felt  all  the  pressure  of  a  task  laid  up 
on  me,  tightening  its  grasp  as  I  reached  maturer  years  ; 
that  of  an  attempt  to  rescue  the  Aztecs  from  their  letter 
less  and  mythical  position  in  history,  to  the  position  which 
their  possibilities  at  least  argue  for  them  ;  and  this  feeling 
has  been  far  less  the  outgrowth  of  the  enthusiasm  awaken 
ed  for  the  Aztecs,  as  the  indignation  felt  at  the  whole 
conduct  of  the  Spanish  Conquest. 

Realizing  the  gravity  of  the  task,  I  have  been  led  to 
carefully  weigh  and  investigate  the  different  theories  ad 
vanced  as  to  the  origin  of  the  Aztecs,  and  to  adopt  the 
argument  of  the  poem  as  the  best  ground  on  which  to 
unite  the  Sun  Worship  of  the  East  with  the  Mythology  of 
of  the  West. 

Reverently,  and  with  a  full  realization  of  how  great 
must  ever  be  the  distance  between  the  actual  work  and 
the  ideal  of  my  early  inspiration,  I  lay  the  gathered  chap- 
let  at  the  shrine  of  old  Chapultepec,  and  only  regret  that 
the  fruiting  should  have  fallen  so  far  short  of  the  promise 
of  its  blooming. 

To  Hubert  Howe  Bancroft  the  living,  and  W.  H.  Pres- 


VI  ARGUMENT    OF    THE    POEM. 

cott  the  dead,  differing  as  they  do  in  some  very  material 
respects,  yet  essentially  the  same  in  spirit,  I  wish  to  re 
cord  my  indebtedness  for  their  admirable  and  exhaustive 
works  that  have  induced  to  a  final  effort  the  poem  of 
which  this  is  prefatory. 

Some  years  since,  I  found  in  an  abridged  history  of 
the  United  States,  a  brief  outline  that  led  me  back  to  the 
Dispersal  at  Shinar  (certainly  a  safe  location  for  a  specu 
lative  beginning)  for  the  origin  of  the  Aztec  race. 

It  occurs  to  me  now,  with  a  shade  of  the  ludicrous, 
that  if  safety  were  the  all-important  thing  in  the  premises, 
I  might  have  gone  back  a  step  farther  to  the  figs  and 
pomegranites  of  Eden,  and  prayed  for  the  shade  of  Adam 
to  cover  the  exotic  which  I  have  humbly  tried  to  rescue 
from  what  seems  to  me  to  be  an  underserved  obscu 
rity.  The  careful  analogies  drawn  between  Egypt  and 
the  Aztecs  by  both  Prescott  and  Bancroft  could  be  bet 
ter  met  by  locating  the  origin  at  Shinar  than  at  any  oth 
er  point,  as  it  takes  us  back  to  a  date  where  we  may  con 
sistently  locate  the  Shepherd  Kings  and  the  overrunning 
of  Mizraim  by  them,  a  part  of  Egypt's  early  history  which 
is  outlined  (more  or  less  briefly)  by  nearly  all  early  histo 
rians 

As  to  the  initial  period  of  Sun  Worship  and  its  origin, 
I  could  of  necessity  have  but  little  aid,  and  if  I  have 
seemed  a  little  too  speculative,  I  have  only  this  apology  : 
The  prodigy  of  Egypt's  prehistoric  development,  and  the 
manufacture  of  glass,  antedating  historic  research.  It 


ARGUMENT   OF    THK    POEM.  Vll 

needs  no  great  imaginative  tension  to  crown  some  inrip- 
ient  philosopher  not  only  with  the  discovery  of  glass, 
but,  that  in  its  proper  shape,  it  could  be  made  to  concen 
trate  the  solar  rays,  and  produce  fire  ;  and  at  that  day  and 
age,  what  possible  superstitions  might  result  from  these 
discoveries  ! 

After  the  re-establishment  of  the  Mizraim  descent,  and 
the- consequent  expulsion  of  the  "  Sons  of  Lud,"  the  line 
of  their  journey  is  the  natural  outgrowth  of  their  relig 
ious  fanaticism.  They  know  that  India  and  the  far  East 
are  inhabited,  and  they  seek  the  uninhabited  track  for 
their  exit. 

The  Mound  Builders  seem  to  be  historic  cousins  of  the 
Aztecs,  certainly  the  superiors  of  the  aborgines  of  the 
North  and  Middle  Atlantic. 

The  expulsion  of  the  Mound  Builders  will  admit  of 
many  theories,  and  I  have  simply  adopted  the  one  that 
occured  to  me  as  consistent  with  the  Christian  inspiration 
of  all  great  events. 

The  settlement  of  Mexico  by  the  Aztecs,  (as  a  branch 
of  the  Mound  Builders)  follows  naturally  in  the  wake  of 
previous  events,  and  the  chain  is  thus  made  complete, 
with  no  serious  hazard  to  its  consistency  as  merely  specu 
lative  drama,  leading  up  to  what  is  plainly  historical. 

1  have  striven  to  be  historically  consistent,  following 
the  letter  of  events  closely,  taking  conjectural  ground  in 
but  few  instances. 

If  I  have  seemed  to  be  censorious,  even  to   rancor   at 


Vlll  ARGUMENT    OF    THE    POEM. 

times,  I  have  only  given  vent  to  the  repressed  indignation 
of  Prescott  and  other  authors  on  the  subject  of  the 
Spanish  Conquest. 

The  only  possible  justification  for  the  excesses  of  Cor 
tez  and  his  adherents,  is  the  age  in  which  the  Conquest 
took  place  ;  and  those  who  seek  to  justify  it  in  this  way, 
point  to  the  opening  of  the  present  century,  and  to  Napo 
leon,  decoying  the  imbecile  king  and  the  weak  Asturias 
into  abdication  and  banishment  to  make  room  for  his 
brother  Joseph.  This  is  a  plague-mark  upon  the  present 
century,  and  though  a  plain  case  of  retributive  justice 
through  the  visiting  of  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the 
children,  still  the  fact  remains  that  the  attempt  to  bring 
ri(fJit  of  any  multiple  of  wrongs,  must  always  record  a 
failure. 

A  sufficient  answer  to  the  latitude  of  the  age,  is  the 
fact  that  a  corresponding  age  gave  us  Plymouth,  and  not 
long  after  Penn's  colony  ;  nor  can  the  Spaniards  claim 
the  same  justification  for  excesses  as  these  coincident  colo 
nists,  all  of  whom  had  felt  the  lash  of  religious  intoler 
ance.  The  Spanish  Conquest,  antedating  the  divisions 
that  followed  the  reformation,  has  no  such  covert  for  their 
lustful  excrescences. 

Any  system  of  religious  ethics  that  severs  human  respon 
sibility  from  the  domain  of  conscience,  and  furnishes  a 
market  for  the  indulgences  that  cover  all  the  excesses  of 
the  body  politic,  cannot  be  expected  to  bring  forth  the 


\K'il    Ml  \  I     OF     1HI      I'OKM.  IX 

best  of  fruit  from  a  bloom  so  blighted  by   human   lust, 
and  so  blackened  by  human  selfishness. 

If,  amid  all  of  their  intolerence  and  deceit,  they  had 
respected  the  homely  records  and  the  grotesque  land 
marks  of  the  nation  they  destroyed,  the  cavaliers  might 
have  shown  them  as  a  slight  palliation, and  at  once  furnished 
the  historian  the  shadow  of  justification  for  their  abuses  ; 
but  the  mental  caste  that  could  adopt  any,  and  every  de 
vice  of  deception  and  treachery  to  accomplish  its  ends, 
threw  itself  at  once  into  the  arms  of  a  priestcraft,  if  pos 
sible  more  implacable  than  themselves  ;  and  obedient  to 
their  demands,  tore  down  their  landmarks,  and  ground 
their  records  to  powder. 

Surely,  there  is  no  fanaticism  like  religious  fanaticism, 
and  no  licentiousness  like  that  of  the  unbridled  devotee 
of  the  Church. 

Finally,  as  a  whole,  I  feel  confident  that  my  effort  will 
not  fail  to  create  food  for  thought ,  and  eventually  justify 
the  effort  which  called  it  forth.  To  a  nature  partially 
Huguenot  in  its  origin,  and  more  so  in  sympathy  and  in 
clination,  I  have  tried  to  add  the  temperate  element 
that  would  impart  freedom  from  undue  prejudice  and 
passion;  but  as  the  work  is  of  necessity  vindicatory  on  the 
one  hand,  and  repressive  on  the  other,  I  have  been  com 
pelled  to  use  good,  plain  Saxon  words  in  the  closing  pages, 
justified  only  by  the  verity  of  their  signification. 

The  body  of  the  work  is  given  in  decimeters,  varying 


X  ARGUMENT    OF    THE    I'OK.M. 

in  only  a  few  cases  where  the  expression  seemed  to  require 
a  different  form. 

I  would  rather  not  close  these  already  extended  re 
marks  without  recording  my  testimony,  with  that  of  others, 
of  the  positive  pleasure  experienced  both  in  the  progress 
and  completion  of  a  work  of  this  character;  and  if  I  shall 
have  been  as  fortunate  in  securing  and  retaining  an  audi 
tory,  I  shall  be  twice  blessed  ;  for  our  highest  ambition 
should  ever  be  that  of  contributing  to  the  hip;>iness  of 
others. 

The  reward  of  earnest  labor,  conscientiously  per 
formed,  is  the  prize  only  once  exceeded  in  the  economy 
of  things,  and  that  once  beyond  the  ken  of  our  di- 
vulgence  ;  yet,  may  we  not  hope  that  there  is  no  actual 
severance  between  the  earthly  type  and  the  heavenly  re 
ality,  that  the  crown  honestly  won,  and  the  prize  worthily 
gained  on  earth,  may  both,  retaining  their  semblance,  the 
more  perfectly  glow  in  the  clearer  atmosphere  of  heaven. 

H.  H.  R. 


MONTEZUMA. 


PART  FIRST. 
EGYPT. 

THE    DISPERSAL    AT    SHINAR. 

As  mariner  upon  the  rocky  sea, 

Without  a  compass,  helm,  or  heavenly  hope, 
A  part  of  Earth's  great  ancestry  to  be 

Upon  the  plains  of  Shinar;  and  they  grope 
In  nature's  darkness;  they  have  lost  the  way 

That  leadeth  to  the  Father,  and  can  find 
No  clue  of  that  great  Presence,  once  their  stay, 

And  still  as  near  ;  but  sin  doth  make  us  blind, 
And  when  it  fastens  on  the  soul,  the  Father  fades  away. 

How  wholly  lost,  when  man  cannot  descry 

One  token  of  his  Maker  in  the  soul — 
One  step  remains,  the  animal  must  die  ; 

But  death  has  superseded  its  control, 
Since  the  immortal  "  Ego  "  is  no  more, 

The  spirit  gone  from  its  companion,  dust — 
The  ashes  are  but  animate  in  vain 

When  love,  and  light,  have  given  place  to  lust 
And  conscience  gives  no  puncture  for  its  pain. 


2  MONTEZUMA. 

Thus  were  they  gathered,  in  this  day  far  gone, 
So  near  the  causeway  of  the  almighty  past, 

That  retrospect  brings  close,  the  thought  of  God— 
We  wonder  that  a  cloud  could  overcast, 

So  primitive  a  people,  that  the  Shepherd's  voice 

Should  leave  no  lingering  echo,  for  the  ear,  so  tokened 
and  so  choice. 

And  they  would  build  a  city,  and  a  tower 

Whose  top  would  reach  the  very  verge  of  Heaven ;  — 
The  puniest  arm,  is  puissent  in  power, 

When  to  its  grasp  supernal  aid  is  given ; 
But  muscles  may,  like  cordage,  swell  the  arm, 

And  arteries,  like  rills  of  mountains  flow. 
Weak  is  the  blood  that  breakers  them  to  harm,— 

The  fires  of  passion  but  a  moment  glow. 

They,  as  the  infants  play  upon  the  rim 

Of  ancient  Ocean,  had  been  rocked  to  sleep 
In  the  bare  arms  of  Nature  ;  she  would  trim 

Her  lamps  for  them,  and  patient  vigil  keep 
Upon  their  slumbers;  and  Heaven,  to  them, 

Was  but  a  brilliant,  close-spread  canopy, 
Or  crystal  dome,  a  sort  of  diadem 

Just  out  of  easy  reach,  and  they  could  see 
No  reason  why  they  might  not  build  a  tower 

Would  intercept  it;  and  their  foolish  pride 
Supposed  this  little  caprice  of  the  hour, 

Through  all  the  after  age,  would  witness  of  their  power. 


MONTEZUMA. 

They  made  them  bricks,  and  steadily  they  reared 

The  spiral  column  heavenward  ;  the  ( Ireat  Kye 
Bent  vigilantly  on  them,  as  they  neared 

The  upper  ether,  silent  as  the  sky 
1  )raws  round  its  garniture ;  into  each  soul 

Crept  the  first  rootlets  of  an  unknown  tongue; 
Each  household  head  placed  under  his  control 

The  elements  of  intercourse,  first  flung 
Together  by  the  great  Teacher;  just  before 

When  they  had  dropped  from  their  exulting  hands 
The  rough-made  tools  ;  they  closed  forevermore 

Their  mutual  labor,  though  in  other  lands 
They  could  resume  their  use,  this  was  the  last 

Of  the  poor  monument  that  they  had  reared— 
The  workmen  stand  in  wonderment  aghast, 

Though  they  had  wrought  together,  and  had  cheered 
Each  other  in  their  task,  each  quivering  lip 

Breathed  but  confusion  to  the  other's  ears, 
No  more  from  common  cup  of  thought  they  sip, 

But  forced  to  strangerhood  for  many,  many  years. 

In  what  a  school  was  fashioned  our  first  thought. 

How  the  poor  soul  is  dumbed,  and  quivering, 
When  we  conceive  what  the  Great  Master  wrought. 

How  are  we  littled,  what  a  nameless  thing 
"Is  man,  that  thou  art  mindful"  thus  "of  him." 

Thou  settest  up,  and  pullest  down,  and  we — 
Our  hearts  are  hushed,  our  vision  is  made  dim — 
Mites  in  the  balance  of  imponderate  destiny. 


4  MONTEZUMA. 

A  camp  in  Central  India,  'neath  the  palms, 

And  where  the  lap  of  nature  is  so  full, 
That  all  the  world  may  beggar  it  of  alms 

And  drink  of  its  repletion ;  a  mere  tool 
Of  hungry  Kingdoms,  thirsty  Dynasties — 

The  finger-tips  of  Alexander's  arm — 
The  plethorite  of  the  Augustan  age — 

The  gilt  that  margins  all  the  tapestries 
Down  through  middle  ages;  and  the  charm 

That  lends  a  mellow  fragrance  to  the  page 
Of  her,  the  Island  Queen,  whose  arm  meets  arm 
In  the  embrace  of  earth,  her  borders  refuge  from  avenging 
harm. 

A  journey  into  Egypt,  with  their  flocks  before, 
And  peaceful  conquests  back,  an  opening  door 

To  vast  historic  truths,  a  Niobe 
Moaning  her  children's  travail  in  advance, 

A  restless  nomad  people,  like  the  sea, 
Stirred  by  involuntary  force,  whose  billows  dance 
To  music  of  the  spheres,  stern  Autocrat,  and  yet  a  slave 
to  its  own  mastery. 

SOJOURN    IN    EGYPT. 

O  Egypt !  how  shall  we  approach  thy  face  ? 
How  steal  from  thy  dumb  lips  one  scrap  of  song  ? 

Thou  stand'st  alone,  and  sendest  from  thy  place 
One  word,  that  human  lips  have  shaped  for  thee, 
To  seal  thy  mighty  arch  with  "  mystery." 


MONTEZUMA. 

Time  calls  his  children  'round  him,  and  they  each 
Give  answer  to  their  names;  gray  Troy  and  Greece 

Pour  out  the  lesson  their  dumb  lips  would  teach, 
Carthage,  Phoenicia,  Parthia  and  Rome 

Clothe  death  with  all  the  eloquence  of  speech  ; 
And  each  form  linklets  of  an  unbroke  chain. 

But  they  are  youthful;  in  perspective  dim 
As  if  unmoved  with  either  joy  or  pain. 

With  arms  enfolded,  and  with  eye  all  fixed, 
A  silent  portal  in  the  track  of  time. 

In  the  rough  surge  of  nations  still  unmixed, 
Where  the  great  fathers  left  thee  in  the  Sphinx, 

And  heaped  the  sands  upon  thy  broken  links, 
Thou  dost  look  down  the  ages  to  defy 
Tradition,  inspiration,  and  all  future  progeny. 

She  sleeps  as  they  advance;  their  lowing  kine 

And  noisy  herds  before  them,  and  with  the  flute 
And  siren  song,  they  win,  as  with  old  wine, 

Their  way  into  the  slumbering  and  the  mute 
Endormir  of  old  Nile ;  but  Egypt  wakes, 

And  breast  to  breast,  opposes  their  advance. 
In  vain  against  the  shepherd  crew,  she  breaks 

Her  ill-spent  arrows,  shattered  every  lance, 
And  Mizraim's  sons  the  rod  of  empire  yield 

To  sons  of  Lud;  they  spread  their  many  tents 
On  Nile's  unequaled  garniture  of  field, 

The  one  discordant  note  in  her  great  eloquence. 


O  MONTEZUMA. 

How  Nature  heals  what  man  has  thus  laid  waste, 

The  stoic  songsters  of  the  worlds  orchaste 
Sing  the  same  song,  for  friend  and  foe  alike, 

They  lift  no  arm  upon  a  world  defaced 
With  war's  stern  tread,  but  with  one  voice  they  strike 

The  note  of  conquest  or  the  requiem 
Of  some  o'ertoppled  Realm,  Nature  moves  on 

To  shame  the  bugle  blare,  or  sound  of  drum, 
And    sets    her    thousand   nestlings    in    the   dust    of   the 
unnumbered  nations  that  arc  none. 


o 


One  after  one,  in  stately  march  of  time, 

Kings  pass,  like  common  people,  to  the  dust  ; 
Unless  by  over-reaching,  and  the  crime 

Of  too  much  selfhood,  they  are  rudely  thrust 
A  little  sooner  to  their  Maker's  hands, 

And  their  succession  made  accelerate 
By  that  potention,  which  each  scepter  mans, 

To  fix  each  calendar,  with  human  date. 
No  mortal  is  a  law  unto  himself, 

And  much  less,  he  who  holds  the  reins  of  power; 
For  wisdom  seldom  is  concentrated  so, 

That  one  weak  soul  is  master  of  the  hour, 
Unquestioned  arbiter  of  human  fate, 

Free  to  subdue,  to  persecute,  to  kill 
The  soul  that  reaches  this  enlarged  estate, 

Meets  with  a  giant  in  the  human  will, 
That  soon  or  late,  will  crush  him  with  its  skill. 


MONTI /r\i  \. 

SUN    WORSHIP. 

Dread  Guard!  whose  portal  is  another  world, 

Thy  mandate  never  can  be  circumscribed; 
Only  that  Hand  thy  car  to  being  whirled, 

And  set  thy  lips,  forevermore  unbribed, 
Can  break  the  seal  of  silence;  we  look  out, 

And  over  both  eternities,  and  waste 
Our  energies,  to  find  some  well-tried  route 

Out  of  life's  labyrinth,  where  we  may  taste 
The  true  nepenthe  that  disarms  all  doubt. 

Beyond  all  human  ken  the  key  is  kept; 

Our  prison  is  too  strong,  and  will  not  break, 
OUT  Keeper's  eyes  are  those  that  never  slept, 

Yet  never  slept  for  love  and  our  dear  sake; 
Touched  by  God's  hand,  the  bolts  will  always  yield: 

We  rule  him;  in  our  weakness,  if  we  ask, 
Our  asking  turns  the  desert  to  a  field, 

And  shapes  a  coronal  of  every  task. 
A  pestilence  has  struck  this  favored  land- 
Religion  pleads  in  health;  it  now  must  take  command. 
The  gods  of  Egypt,  all  are  impotent, 

The  people  beat  the  empty  air  in  vain; 
No  orgie  gains  the  purchase  of  content,  • 

Their  altars  only  mock  the  nation's  pain. 
The  King  has  called  a  council  to  discuss 

The  best-laid  methods  of  religious  thought. 
Of  counselors,  there  is  an  overplus, 


8  MONTEZUMA. 

And  many  are  the  schemes  that  they  have  brought, 
All  conjured  since  they  lost  their  way.     The  years 

Had  slowly  passed,  since  God  himself  had  spoke, 
And  hearts  are  human  things,  and  their  hot  tears, 

Melting  their    souls    to    harmony,  in    echoing  murmur 
broke : 

O  Soul!  that  is  all  song, 

O  Heart!  that  is  all  love, 
O  Right!  that  knows  no  wrong, 
O  Arm!  that  is  all  strong, 

Upon  our  bosoms  move. 

O  Eye!  that  is  all  sight, 

O  Voice!  that  is  all  sound, 
O  Life!  that  is  all  might, 
O  Wing!  that  is  all  flight, 

Where,  where  can  you  be  found  ? 

O  Ear!  that  only  hears, 

O  Voice!  that  only  sings, 
O  Eye!  that  knows  no  tears, 
O  Time!  that  counts  no  years, 

Lend  us  thy  gift  of  wings. 

O  Faith!  that  wants  no  form, 

O  Hope!  all  unafraid, 
O  Sun!  without  a  storm, 
O  Summer!  always  warm, 

Where  shall  our  hearts  be  stayed  ? 


Ml  >N  I  I  /I    M  \.  9 

O  Spirit!  infinite, 

O  thou  unchanging  Word! 
Whose  echoes  round  us  flit, 
With  all  the  past  enlit, 

O  make  thee  to  be  heard ! 

So  sang  the  gathered  choral  of  the  King, 

And  so,  with  saddened  hearts,  responded  all 
The  gathered  multitude;    with  what  a  spring 

Is  set  the  chords  of  Nature;  and  the  call 
From  any  searching  soul  a  unit  is 

Of  universal  and  insatiate  thirst. 
The  longing  story  one  may  sing  as  his, 

Responsive  hearts  all  echo  with  the  first, 
Which  shows  how  deep  are  all  of  our  desires; 

How  earnestly  we  peer  out  in  the  dark! 
How  are  we  freighted,  all,  with  latent  fires! 

How,  on    our   souls    and    in    our   hearts,  the    Master 

leaves  His  mark! 
There  rose,  from  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd, 

One  bowed  with  lengthened  years,  yet  nobly  bent 
With  the  more  potent  weight  of  earnest  thought; 

His  massive  brain  and  princely  bearing  lent 
A  more  than  common  strength  to  his  clear  eye, 

As,  on  his  shepherd's  staff,  his  form  was  bent; 
Near  to  the  King,  with  faltering  step  he  came, 

And  spake,  as    if   a    master    spake,  with    all    his   soul 
aflame. 


10  MONTEZUMA. 

"Oh  King,  and  sons  of  Lud!  No  pardon  asks 
Old  Kohen  for  the  words  that  leap  his  lips; 
No  earthly  throne  gives  warrant  to  my  voice; 
But  he,  the  God,  of  whom  our  fathers  told, 
The  God  of  Noah;  he,  at  whose  command 
The  patriarch  bent  to  labor;  and  till  twice 
A  hundred  harvest  moons  had  waned,  wrought  on 
The  ark,  and  saved  the  seed  of  man  to  earth, 
He,  he,  has  spoken!  and  his  words  have  sunk 
So  deeply  in  my  heart  I  must  be  heard. — 

'Thus  saith  the  Lord:   'O  truant  sons  of  Lud, 
Why  grope  ye  in  the  dark,  why  not  return 
To  the  great  Father's  house?     How  have  I  called 
And  waited  for  an  answer  to  my  suit! 
O  sons  of  men,  return!  repent!  believe! 
Where  have  ye  wandered,  that  ye  have  not  heard 
The  voice  of  your  Jehovah  in  the  wind, 
And  on  the  storm  and  tempest,  when  in  wrath 
He  thunders  in  the  ears  of  men;  repent! 
And  on  the  desert  in  the  hot  simoom 
Writ  fervent  words  to  warn  you  of  your  way. 

'  'I  am  the  God,  of  whom  your  fathers  spake; 
Out  of  all  chaos  did  I  call  the  earth, 
And  out  of  dust,  your  great  ancestor  made; 
And  hardly  his  clay  swaddlings  put  on, 
Ere  from  his  rib  I  called  his  helpmeet  forth, 


MONTEZUMA.  I  I 

"'Your  mother  Eve;  I  have  bespoken  wrath; 
Yet,  on  the  threshold  of  your  life  I  placed 
!".ie  ministry  of  love,  and  with  my  lips 

Kissed  the  clay  to  life.     How  have  I  longed 
To  hold  the  race  as  I  their  fathers  held, 
Encircled  in  the  Everlasting  Arms; 
But  ye  would  not;  ye  are  yourselves,  a  law, 
To  your  own  beings  in  my  image  made, 
And  ye  must  choose  to  live,  to  love,  to  learn. 
How  great  is  my  compassion,  and  how  long 
I  have  kept  watch,  and  waited  for  my  lost! 

"  'My  very  anger  is  the  throne  of  love. — 

Because  I  could  not  lose  the  multitudes, 

The  myriads  of  millions  yet  unborn, 

I  spoke  your  father  Noah  into  work, 

And  set  afloat  the  remnant  of  his  loins, 

And  oped  the  gates  of  Heaven  to  flood  the  earth. 

I  saw  the  race  go  down  to  watery  graves, 

In  sorrow;  and  I  saw  a  deeper  wound 

Had  I  but  spared;  I  struck  the  seedling  off, 

Rather  than  smite  the  tree;  I  move  in  storms 

To  purify;  and  in  the  tempest  smite 

Only  to  save. 

I  saw  the  impious  hands 
Your  fathers  raised  in  Shinar,  and  I  came 
And  in  the  night,  gave  each  another  tongue, 
And  scattered  their  device,  and  smote  their  lips 


1 2  MONTEZUMA. 

That  they  raised  not  to  mine.   How  could  I  see 
Their  folly  and  not  smite?     I  loved  them  so; 
Ye,  who  have  children,  look  within  your  hearts, 
And  in  them  see  the  miniatures  of  mine; 
More  of  the  parent  than  your  soul  can  feel. 

"  '  Behold  in  me  the  source  and  spring  of  love; 

I  followed  with  paternal  care  to  Ind, 

I  saw,  and  I  stood  guard  upon  your  steps; 

More  than  a  father's  love  was  in  my  soul, 

More  than  a  mother's  tenderness  inurned. 

The  mountains  are  the  mole-hills  of  my  strength; 

Yet  am  I  weak  in  love;  I  would  not  send 

One  single  child  to  the  eternal  world 

All  unprepared;  but  ye  have  gone  astray; 

Ye  are  my  flock,  and  I  would  turn  you  back 

Before  the  wolves  shall  fatten  of  your  flesh. 

" '  Bring  offerings  from  your  herds,  the  choicest  bring, 

(Are  they  not  also  mine?)  and  altars  build 

And  offer  them  thereon,  but  further  bring 

The  contrite  heart,  and  the  unsullied  hand, 

Bring,  as  your  fathers  told  you,  Abel  brought, 

And  I  will  meet  you  on  the  altar's  brink, 

With  fire  from  Heaven,  and  consume  it  all. 

Ask  not  again  to  look  upon  my  face; 

Ye  cannot  look,  and  live;  I  only  speak, 

As  I  now  speak,  through  Kohen;  he  it  is, 

Out  from  among  you  I  have  set  apart 


MONTF.ZUMA.  13 

"'To  be  my  sponsor;  listen  to  my  words: 

Build  up  your  altars,  offer  from  your  best; 

Am  I  not  better  than  the  best  you  have  ? 

When  ye  have  builded,  pray;  pour  out  your  hearts 

As  ye  pour  out  the  blood;  prayer  is  the  key 

To  my  most  inner  soul;  the  voice  of  love 

Is  prayer.     It  is  the  angel's  wing  that  fell 

Never  yet  short  of  Paradise.     The  voice 

That  trembles  on  the  lips  of  infancy, 

When  reaching  out  to  reason,  and  the  last 

That  passes  with  the  shadow  of  the  sun 

When  life's  last  slope  is  reached,  and  never  yet 

Has  the  repentant  spirit  left  unalmsed. 

"  «  Have  ye  not  heard  how  "Enoch  walked  with  God, 

And  he  was  not,"  because  I  drew  him  up  ? 

He  kept  so  closely  locked  in  my  embrace, 

That  there  was  nothing  left  of  him  to  die. 

So  would  I  have  you  walk,  and  learn  the  way; 

For  I  am  very  near  each  human  soul, 

And  ye  may  blend  your  being  into  mine, 

And,  losing  self,  be  only  found  of  me. 

Ye  all  through  Adam  sinned;  but  there  will  come 

A  time  when,  in  the  second  Adam,  will  the  first 

Transgression  be  atoned;  your  altars  then 

May  all  be  turned  to  ashes;  for  I  send 

My  best  beloved,  my  ever  blessed  Son, 

The  Prince  of  Peace,  to  save  the  sin-cursed  earth 


1 4  MONTEZUMA. 

"  '  From  the  first  great  offense,  and  to  prepare 
The  creature  for  creation's  judgment  day  ; 
Himself,  upon  the  altar  will  be  placed, 
A  final  offering  for  the  sins  of  men. 

"  'Thus  is  our  justice  smothered  o'er  with  love; 
The  law  is  satisfied,  when  Love,  made  King, 
Bends  down  the  neck  to  bear  the  ills  of  earth. 
Therefore  return: 

And  I  will  warm  you  back  to  perfect  life, 
If  you  but  follow  me.     Come  in,  and  rest, 
I  am  your  husbandman,  and  all  I  have 
Is  on  my  table  ;  feast,  and  fill  yourselves. 
I  am  your  vintner ;  here  is  wine,  and  here 
Is  honey  ;  satisfy  your  wants,  I  am 
Your  garden,  Eden  is  restored  in  me. 

O  children  that  are  lost  !  be  found  again  ; 
I  am  your  Shepherd,  and  my  arms  shall  bear 
The  weak  ones  of  the  flock.     Do  any  thirst  ? 
I  am  your  Spring,  your  parched  lips  to  cool  ; 
Come  and  be  one  with  me  !  and  I  will  be 
More  than  your  souls  could  ever  frame  to  ask. 

Come  to  my  open  arms,  O  sons  of  men  ! 
They  are  not  full  without  you  ;  in  my  heart 
Is  loneliness,  though  from  itself  it  draw 
Companionship.      Had  I  but  called  to  life 
The  pliant  clay  of  Adam,  and  not  breathed 
My  spirit  in  his  nostrils,  then  could  he 


MONlT/rMA.  15 

'"Filled  out  his  measure  with  a  lesser  life, 
Without  the  test  of  law;  but  how  much  more 
To  live  as  he  could  lived,  divinely  great 
In  mastery  of  earth,  and  only  on 
The  single  test,  obedience  to  our  will; 
Yet,  he  fell  short,  and  I  foresaw  it  all 
And  suffered  it,  that  human  eyes  might  see 
The  glories  of  redemption,  and  behold 
The  one  Incarnate  Son,  the  Soul  of  Love, 
The  Second  Self  of  Me. 

"  'O  sons  of  men, 

Fall  down!  behold  his  coming  in  a  glass; 
Behold  and  see  him,  in  the  fire  I  send 
From  Heaven  upon  your  altars,  and  repent; 
And  when  the  time  is  fully  ripe,  behold 
He  cometh  in  the  flesh!  and  ye  shall  see 
The  very  Son  and  Sanction  of  my  heart. 
Oli!  is  it  not  enough?  Can  even  I 
Do  more?     Your  children  shall  behold  my  words 
Grown  to  fulfillment,  and  they  all  shall  see 
The  Son  of  God  become  the  Son  of  Man; 
And  ye  may  see,  by  faith,  if  ye  implant 
The  tree  of  your  redemption,  so  its  leaves 
May  cover  Egypt  and  the  rest  of  earth. 

"  'The  pestilence  that  darkens  at  your  door 
Came  as  a  cry,  from  Mizraim  in  bonds; 


1 6  MONTEZUMA. 

"  'Strike  off  his  chains!  and  I  will  lift  you  up. 
Love  ye  your  neighbor,  as  ye  love  yourselves; 
His  bruises  and  your  pestilence  shall  pass 
Together  from  the  land.     Live  ye  pure  lives, 
And  all  your  blackness  shall  become  as  snow. 
Make  room  for  me  among  you;  in  the  morn 
Let  rise  your  incense  to  the  throne  of  grace; 
Bring  me  your  noon  oblation;  in  your  thanks 
Let  evening  have  its  holicaust  of  love. 
When  spring  puts  forth  her  promise,  offer  up; 
When  summer  comes,  enladen  with  its  growth, 
And  when  the  harvest  moon,  with  ripened  sheaves, 
Measures  the  fullness  of  my  great  regard; 
Yea!  when  the  winter  brings  the  time  of  rest, 
Forget-me-not  !  forget-me-not !  but  pour 
Into  each  crevice,  of  the  well  filled  year, 
The  overflow  of  all  your  thankfulness. 

"  '  Come  in  the  Spring  and  Summer  of  your  lives, 
And  in  the  yellow  leaves  of  Autumn  come, 
And  in  the  snow  and  Winter  of  your  age  ; 
Come  any  time,  but  come  !  stay  not  away  ! 
And  I  will  give  you  rest  ;  and  ye  shall  not 
Go  out  again  forever  ;  but  shall  shine 
Bright  as  the  brightest  stars,  and  ye  shall  sing, 
As  never  angels  sang ;  and  every  soul 
Be  swallowed  up  in  sunshine  evermore  " 


i7 

He  ceased  ;  and  there  arose  from  out  the  crowd 

The  murmuring  voice  of  question  on  the  air; 

Some  thought  him  moved  of  God,  and  long  and  loud 

Gave  acclamation  in  his  favor  ;  "  Where," 

Cried  they,  "can  such  authority  be  found? 

Whence  come  those  gracious  words,  if  not  from  God  ? — 

Power,  wisdom,  love,  entripled  in  the  sound 

A  mother's  tenderness,  a  father's  rod." 

Then  spake  the  unctious  King  ;  and  through  the  King, 

The  man;  for  he  was  but  a  tattered  rag 

Of  royalty  :   "  What  is  this  wondrous  thing, 

Old  Kohen,  you  propose  ?  Make  haste,  let  lag 

Your  purpose  ;  why  is  it,  we  cannot  speak 

Face  unto  face  with  your  great  Deity  ? — 

Our  fathers  say  old  Noah  did — what  leak 

Has  sprung  between  us,  that  we  cannot  see 

The  father  as  he  is  ?  as  others  did  ? 

Am  I  not  greater  than  all  earthly  Kings  ? 

He  spake  our  fathers,  wherefore  is  he  hid 

That  I  cannot  behold  him  ?  Let  his  wings 

Be  folded  for  a  while,  as  he  comes  down, 

That  we  may  see  him  as  he  is ;  we  came 

To  choose  a  god,  whom  we,  indeed,  can  see; 

Or,  if  his  face  be  burnished  with  a  flame 

Too  great  for  our  uncovered  eyes,  then  we 

Are  satisfied  to  close  them  in  the  smile 

Of  one  so  radiant;  so  we  feel  him  near, 


1 8  MONTEZUMA. 

"But  we  must  know  his  presence  for  the  while  ; 
Speak  Kohen  !  why  can  ye  not  bring  him  here  ?  " 

Then  answered  Kohen:  "Urge  me  not,  O  King  ! 

Ye  know  not  what  ye  ask,  if  ye  do  seek 

To  see  him  as  he  is.     A  nameless  thing, 

A  brow-bedabbled  man,  upon  whose  cheek, 

Sheds  everyday  God's  sunshine;  shall  he  ask 

That  a  decree  be  broken,  and  presume 

To  lift  unhallowed  voice?     Though  in  a  mask 

Jehovah  hides  his  presence,  yet,  the  bloom 

Of  every  flower,  is  but  the  blush  he  brings 

Upon  the  face  of  nature,  as  he  looks 

Abroad  upon  his  creatures;  and  she  sings 

From  her  ten  thousand  voices  in  his  praise. 

Wake  to  his  chorus  !     '  Ancient  of  the  Days,' 

Wake  children  !  and  your  faith  shall  blossom  into  wings. 

"  Prate  ye  to  fools,"  the  incensed  Monarch  cries, 
"  Nor  gabble  longer  of  your  hidden  Lord  ; 
Who  follows  in  his  wake,  this  moment  dies, 
And  Isis  and  eternal  keep  my  word. 
We  have  a  score  of  hidden  deities 
And  yet,  they  leave  us,  without  aid  or  thought, 
And  pestilence  comes  in  and  blocks  our  ways 
And  where  can  our  deliverence  be  bought? 
Show  the  bare  hand  of  infinite  decree, 
Show  us  a  present  help  in  each  distress, 
Show  us  the  Master,  we  will  bend  the  knee, 


MONTEZUMA.  1 9 

"  And  we  will  follow  on,  in  righteousness. 

Strike  !  strike  the  chords  !  while  we  invoke  the  gods, 

And  with  the  music  let  our  souls  be  blended, 

That  we  may  find  the  one,  before  whom  nods 

'All  stripling  deities,  and  thus  our  strife  be  ended."' 

Then  rose  a  blast  of  sound  upon  the  air 

And  blended  with  it  was  the  voice  of  song, 

The  chime  of  music  with  the  moan  of  prayer — 

A  nation's  thirst ;  deep,  earnest  and  impassionately  strong: 

O  God  of  gods  !     be  with  us  when  we  pray, 

And  give  us  rest ; 
List  our  entreaty,  be  not  far  away, 

Be  near  each  breast. 

The  gods  of  Mizraim,  we  have  sought  in  vain, — 

They  answer  not ; 
Our  prayers  are  but  an  empty,  aching  pain,— 

We  are  forgot. 

Though  Isis  bless  our  fields  and  flocks  with  growth, 

And  Thoth  be  heard  ; 
Upon  the  tongues  of  wisemen,  yet,  is  wroth 

Some  mighty  lord. 

Some  hidden  power  without  us ;  in  the  dark 

\Ve  grope  our  way  ; 
From  thine  own  glory,  lend  to  us  a  spark, 

Be  thou  our  day. 


20  MONTEZUMA. 

O,  make  thee  to  be  known, 
From  thy  unchanging  throne, 

God  of  the  trusting  heart ; 
Come  take  us  by  the  hand, 
And  be  our  sole  command, 

And  form  with  us  a  part. 

Give  us,  to  look  upon 
Thy  form  without  a  frown, 

Our  doubts  and  fears  displace  ; 
God  of  the  universe, 
Remove  from  us,  thy  curse, 

Give  us  to  see  thy  face. 

"Behold!  behold,  his  face  !" 

A  hand  is  pointed  to  the  sun  ; 

11  Behold  !  and  be  ye  not  afraid, 

To-day,  be  life,  once  more  begun ; 

Look  ye  upon  his  face,  and  learn  to  live, 

Look  ye  upon  his  face  and  learn  to  die; 

His  hand  alone  deliverance  can  give, 

His  light,  alone,  can  frame  the  soul's  reply. 

'  Hear  me  !  ye  sons  of  men';   all  eyes  were  turned ; 

A  stranger  in  their  midst,  whose  dark  eye  burned 

With  an  unearthly  gleam,  yet  black  as  night. 

It  had  no  heavenly  radiance,  yet,  was  bright 

With  a  mysterious  blaze,  that  pierced  the  soul 

As  with  an  arrow  to  its  inmost  part, 

His  form,  in  keeping  with  his  face,  made  whole 


MONTEZUMA.  21 

"  A  man  well  fitted  to  command  ;  a  heart 

That  seemed  to  throb  with  some  great  passion  ;  pent 

And  seething  into  purpose ;  his  black  face 

Shone  like  a  mirror-hood  of  his  design. 

His  words,  and  his  strange  presence  in  the  place 

Gave  him  enraptured  audience,  that  no  one  dared  decline. 

"  Hear  me,  ye  sons  of  men  :  I  am  not  come 

To  woe  ye  to  destruction  ;  but,  to  save ; 

The  color  of  my  face  betrays  my  birth, 

I  am  Mizraim's  race  ;  but  of  mankind 

A  brother,  and  I  speak  in  soberness. 

Because  our  fathers  wandered  from  the  way, 

And  left  the  shining  pathway  of  the  sun, 

Because  they  fell  to  seeking  other  gods, 

He  suffered  them  to  fall  into  yonr  hands. 

I  will  not  speak,  as  he  has  feigned  to  speak, 

Who  claimed  before  me,  sponsorship  from  God  ; 

But  I  will  make  it  plain  that  he  deceived. 

Our  fathers  tell  of  Noah  and  the  ark, 

And  also  tell  of  Shinar,  and  the  time 

Of  the  dispersal.     It  is  not  enough 

To  come  with  empty  declamation,  come 

With  platitudes  of  love,  and  softened  terms 

Of  parenthood,  and  then  to  dash  it  all— 

The  yearning  love  of  children,  to  the  earth, 

liy  words  that  are  icicled  up  from  death  : 

'  Ask  not  to  look  upon  my  face  again, 

Ye  cannot  look  and  live.' 


2  2  MONTEZUMA. 

"  Shame  !  shame  on  the  pretender  thus  to  bring 

Youi  expectations  to  the  pitch  of  pain, 

The  summit  of  your  hope,  where,  to  move  on 

Is  only  to  descent  and  sorrow  ;  thus 

To  multiply  his  attributes  of  good, 

And  to  describe  a  god  so  like  the  true, 

The  ever  shining  Sun,  and  then  deny 

The  precious  boon  of  sight  ;  what  mockery  ! 

When  there  he  stands,  (eternity,  as  young,) 

The  broad,  full  shining  orb,  to  look  upon  ; 

The  ever  radiant  Arbiter  of  earth, 

The  great  '  I  am  '  of  love  ;  the  very  soul 

Of  tenderness  ;  rising  every  morn 

To  kiss  his  sleeping  children  from  their  beds, 

Enwrapping  them,  with  all  his  piercing  warmth  ; 

Wooing  the  fragrant  flowers  from  the  earth, 

And  warming  all  existences  to  life. 

"  How  can  the  soul  be  blind,  when  such  a  pledge 

Stands  in  eternal  witness  of  its  love  ? 

The  very  rocks  would  break  their  raptured  trance, 

If  man  find  not  his  voice  in  fervent  praise. 

How  do  the  waters  mirror  up  his  face  ! 

And  tremble  into  waves  at  his  advance. 

The  universe  goes  laughing  into  life 

Each  morn  at  his  approach,  and  all  the  world 

Forgets  its  wakcfulness,  when  the  tired  wing 

Of  day  is  folded,  and  himself  withdraws 


MONTEZUMA.  23 

"To  teach  us  faith  in  him  till  he  return; 
Thus  every  night  his  promise,  and  each  morn 
His  gracious  fulfillment,  filling  the  year 
With  ripened  sheaves  of  his  remembrances. 

"  We  measure  power  by  our  necessities ; 

Let  him  forget  the  dawning  of  one  day, 

Or  leave  us  through  the  circle  of  one  moon, 

(Which  were  the  same  to  him  but  for  his  love,) 

By  what  conception  would  we  feel  our  loss  ? 

While  yet  the  year  is  young,  we  scatter  seed, 

And  wait  his  fervid  rays  to  fructify. 

The  trees  put  forth  their  bloom,  that  his  embrace 

May  ripen  into  fruit ;  and  not  a  growth 

But  climbs  his  rays  to  full  development. 

When  Nature  points  with  her  ten  thousand  hands 

To  him,  the  almighty  framer  of  it  all, 

Shall  man  forget  his  duty  and  fly  off 

On  the  unnumbered  tangents  of  the  brain  ? 

Rather  let  break  our  voices  in  his  praise, 

And  let  each  human  soul,  be  safely  borne, 

Back  to  his  many-chambered  paradise. 

"  Down  on  his  rays  man  rode  into  the  world, 
And  if  we  wander  not,  the  same  broad  path 
Is  open  for  our  exit ;  there  is  room 
In  his  broad  campus  for  the  royal  race. 
Our  bodies  are  of  dust,  and  will  return  ; 
Only  the  vital  spark,  the  shining  way 


24  MONTEZUMA. 

"  Ere  traversed  ;  and  that  alone  goes  back 

To  join  the  maker  in  the  increate, 

The  golden  chambers  of  eternal  light. 

Look  on  these  eyes  !  have  they  not  more  than  Earth 

In  their  deep  glance  ?     I  know  whereof  I  speak  ; 

For  I  was  led,  in  trancehood  to  the  sun, 

And  in  his  very  chambers  have  I  walked, 

And  at  his  very  throne  have  I  bent  down 

To  praise  him ;  multitudes  were  there,  who  knelt 

As  I  did  kneel,  in  rapturehood  and  prayer. 

"High  in  the  midst,  sole  source  of  life  and  light, 
The  glowing  center  of  the  shining  orb 
Sat  the  unchanging  god  ;  his  face  was  that 
Of  manhood  magnified ;  upon  his  cheek 
Was  more  than  woman's  beauty  deified. 

O  !  once  to  look  and  live,  is  all  the  soul, 
Though  it  be  triply  strengthened,  can  endure, 
Till  it  do  pass  from  this  clay  tenement 
Into  the  morrow  of  the  upper  world  ; 
But  we  may  now  and  always  climb  the  rays 
That  spring  from  his  own  countenance,  and  see 
The  reflex  of  his  face ;  but  of  his  form, 
But  little  can  be  printed  on  our  sight. 
Enough,  to  know  he  lives,  and  is  our  life, 
And  every  morning  he  doth  search  us  out, 
And  lift  the  burden  from  our  heavy  lids, 
That  we  may  rise  with  him  and  to  our  tasks  ! 


MONTEZUMA.  25 

"  Shall  we  be  hushed,  when  every  bird  and  flower 
Doth  herald  his  approach?     Convolvulus 
Waits  for  his  coming  with  its  lips  apart, 
And  Philomela  will  not  close  his  note, 
Till  he  do  answer  with  his  smiling  face; 
Thus  the  whole  earth  resolvent  into  song 
Waits  for  his  footsteps — how  can  we  be  dumb  ! 

"  There  was  a  song 

Which  flowed,  untutored,  from  the  lips  of  love, 
The  ransomed  ones  that  knelt  before  his  throne, 
No  earthly  tongues  its  echo  could  repeat, 
So  much  there  was  of  love,  so  much  of  joy, 
So  much  of  tenderness  and  innocence  ; 
For  they  were  without  guile,  and  not  a  word 
But  breathed  of  faith,  dependency  and  peace. 
It  praised  him  for  his  sufference  of  earth, 
That  he  did  bear  its  sin,  yet  did  not  smite; 
And  only  once,  in  anger,  hid  his  face, 
And  oped  the  heavens,  to  wash  out  its  filth; 
Yet,  with  his  fervent  rays,  drank  up  the  flood, 
And  set  his  bow  a  witness  that  again 
Never  should  earth  be  flooded,  while  the  years 
Melt  into  centuries,  till  the  whole  race, 
With  aching  hearts  and  scalding  eyes  shall  come 
Back  to  his  all-embracing  fatherhood. 

"They  thanked  him  for  his  witness-watch  of  man, 
That  time  and  time,  his  face  was  partly  hid, 


26  MONTEZUMA. 

"To  show  the  hazard  of  our  wandering  steps, 
That  in  the  early,  and  the  latter  rain, 
He  wept  for  our  refreshment,  till  his  tears 
Shut  out  his  fervent  glances  from  our  eyes; 
And  though  he  mourned  our  strangerhood  of  him, 
Yet  would  he  teach  us  that  in  smiles  and  tears 
Are  we  begotten,  and  our  lives  are  lost 
If  we  find  not  the  blessings  that  are  hid 
Beneath  the  rainbow  tints  of  sorrowing. 

"  Thus  much,  and  more,  that  I  will  not  essay  ; 
But  I  was  led  through  fields  and  garden  walks, 
And  ornate  grandeur,  which  the  earth  affords 
Nor  pattern  nor  approach ;  and  though  the  mind 
Be  forced  to  utmost  tension,  it  cannot 
Encompass  the  bewilderment  of  sight. 
Since  my  return,  I  cannot  cast  it  off, 
It  lingers  with  me  like  some  raptured  dream, 
And  in  my  eyes  and  on  my  face  is  drawn 
The  print  of  its  unspeakable  surmount ; 
And  I  would  call  it  dream,  if  I  had  not 
A  talisman,  that  tells  me  of  its  truth. 
An  angel  led  me  to  the  central  throne, 
An  angel  led  me  back  to  consciousness ; 
But  ere  he  passed  the  confines  of  the  sun, 
He  handed  me  a  clear,  transparent  gem, 
And  called  me:  '  Uri,  thus  it  shall  be  said: 
The  very  god  commands  that  it  be  done; 


MONTEZUMA.  27 

"  'Uri,  my  light,  my  fire  upon  the  earth, 
Shall  build  again  my  altars  and  restore 
With  his  own  hand,  the  priesthood  of  the  sun. 
I  will  a  hundredfold  return  the  scorn 
Of  Mizraim  on  himself,  for  his  neglect; 
And  from  the  sons  of  Lud  I  will  raise  up 
A  kingdom  that  shall  shine  in  righteousness.' 

"This  said,  he  handed  me  the  talisman; 
Which,  when  our  altars  shall  have  been  prepared, 
And  laden  with  the  choicest  of  our  flock, 
Shall  claim  the  pledge  of  the  eternal  one, 
With  fire  from  his  own  courts  to  burn  it  up. 

"  I  can  not  say  how  long,  or  short  a  time, 
I  lingered  thus  entranced;  I  only  know 
I  waked  to  find  it  real.     The  precious  gem 
Is  proof  of  disenchantment;  it  is  here. 

I  lay  no  claim  on  priesthood,  but  have  told 
The  plain,  uncumbered  truth;  when  I  did  fall, 
Prone  to  the  earth  in  trance,  I  had  no  thought, 
Of  what  would  come  of  it;  you  have  it  all. 
I  have  the  stone,  and  we  will  test  its  power. 
If  yonder  priest,  with  his  enshrouded,  myth, 
Desires  to  measure  lances  with  the  sun, 
Then  we  will  each  build  altars  to  our  gods, 
And  he  that  first  draws  fire  from  any  source, 
Not  of  the  earth,  shall  claim  the  forfeiture 
Of  all  the  other's  tenantry  to  teach. 


28  MONTEZUMA. 

"  I  may  have  said  too  much;  I  can  not  more 
Than  leave  the  rest  with  god,  the  changeless  one, 
The  bright,  all-shining  universe  of  love, 
The  unfailing  source,  the  broad,  unvarying  stream, 
The  very  oceanhood  of  deity." 

He  ceased;  and  Kohen,  rising  to  his  feet, 

Gave  back  the  challenge  eagerly;  as  might 
The  athlete  spring  his  ready  foe  to  meet; 

His,  was  the  conscious  power  of  fearless  right: 
"Let  him  lift  up  his  altars  to  the  sun, 
And  I  will  call  upon  the  Uncreate, 
The  hand,  that  shaped  it  from  chaotic  void, 
The  face,  whose  look  first  taught  it  how  to  smile. 
He  may  call  first,  that  it  may  vantage  him; 
But  other  than  the  earth  can  no  man  bring, 
Fire  from  the  distant  realms,  except  it  be 
From  God,  Creator  of  the  sun,  the  moon  and  stars. 
I  am  content  that  he  do  cry  his  god, 
Till  he  be  hoarse  with  hardihood  of  prayer, 
This  day  shall  judge  between  us  and  the  right, 
And  ye  shall  see  the  bare  arm  of  the  Lord." 

The  crowd,  impatient  of  his  words,  did  shout 

In  Uri's  acclamation;  as  the  sun, 
Full-faced  and  warm,  gave  back  his  witnesshood; 

His  ready  conquest  had  been  well  begun. 
How  few  there  be,  who  see  beyond  their  sight  ! 

Even  in  our  day  of  peculence  and  power, 


MONTEZUMA.  29 

The  horizon  of  man  has  been  his  might, 
Beyond  his  ready  reach  he  passes  into  night; 

The  world  is  bounded  by  its  present  hour. 
No  marvel  that  old  Uri  swept  the  field  ; 

His  snare  was  baited  for  their  ready  sense, 
No  effort  theirs,  a  pleasure  but  to  yield; 
Theirs  but  the  open  book,  to  them  unsealed; 

They  felt  no  weight  of  future  recompense; 
And  so  they  shouted,  high  and  loud,  his  praise, 

'Till  he  recalled  them,  with  his  magic  voice: 
"Old  Kohen  seems  in  earnest;   let  us  raise 

Our  altars  quickly,  that  we  may  rejoice 
This  day,  in  our  great  father's  warm  embrace, 
That  we  may  look  unblushing  in  his  face 
And  call  his  fervent  rays  to  their  full  test 
Ere  he  shall  draw  the  curtain  in  the  west." 

So  said,  so  done;  two  altars  were  soon  reared, 

Both  prophets,  in  full  confidence  appeared; 

The  offerings  have  been  brought;  and  now  they  wait 

Only  the  word;  the  King  must  give  command. 
Against  gray  Kohen,  was  the  leveled  fate 

Of  his  unsolaced  anger;  yet,  his  hand 
Was  stayed  by  counsel,  and  he  only  said, 

"Uri  calls  first,  let  every  breath 
Be  hushed  upon  his  calling.     Let  the  dead 

From  out  their  cerements  beneath 
Bear  witness  with  our  spirits  that  we  seek 


30  MONTEZUMA. 

"  A  true  solution  to  the  psalm  of  life. 
Slay  thou  the  offering,  Uri,  and  then  speak, 

Speak  the  charmed  word,  and  close  the  strife." 

Uri  comes  forth  and  in  one  hand  he  brings 

The  talisman  with  leathern  circlet  stayed, 

Enclosing  surfaces  convex;  to  this  he  clings 

As  though  the  whole  earth  in  the  balance  laid, 

Were  mean  in  weight  compared  to  such  a  gem. 

The  other  holds  a  knife,  and  with  a  stroke 

The  offering  is  prepared;  he  looked  at  them, 

The  thirsting,  hungry  eyes  that  watch,  then  broke 

'Hie  silence,  turning  full  upon  the  sun: 

"Thy  will,  most  radiant  god!  thy  will  be  done. 

()  shining  face!  of  the  unchanging  one, 

Look,  in  the  pity  thou  alone  canst  feel 

And  lead  us  back  to  life,  we  claim  thy  pledge. 

A  -nation,  lifts  to  thee  their  centered  prayer; 

'They  see  thy  smile,  they  know  thy  heart  of  hearts. 

They  hush  them  here,  upon  their  altar's  brink, 

For  they  can  go  no  nearer;  meet,  thou,  them, 

And,  as  we  look  upon  thy  face,  may  we 

Behold  thy  very  presence  in  our  midst; 

Come  as  a  flame,  to  lick  this  offering  up, 

And  all  our  hearts  shall  melt  into  thy  smile.'' 

He  raised  the  gem  before  the  flaming  sun; 

The  rays  concentered,  and  the  flames  burst  forth 


MONTEZUMA. 

As  leaping  to  their  master.     'Twas  enough. 
The  multitude,  in  thought,  became  as  one. 
And  all,  save  Kohen,  sank  upon  their  knees; 
And  whispers  of  relief,  fell  on  the  breeze. 
They  were  as  pliant  clay  in  Uri's  hands, 
And  hung  upon  the  breath  of  his  commands: 
"  Pour  forth  your  homage,  chosen  of  the  sun, 
Once  more  his  warmth  encloses;  and  we  feel 
Responsive  throbbings  of  his  fatherhood. 
Rise  and  rejoice!"     Their  ready  voices  raise 
From  lips,  new  touched  in  unison  of  praise. 

Old  Kohen  was  confounded  at  the  first. 
He  had  not  thought  it  possible,  to  bring 
Fire  from  the  sun,  or  any  mortal  thing; 
No  shadow  of  its  secret  on  him  burst; 
But  he  had  heard  of  sorcery  and  arts 
Among  the  sons  of  Mizraim,  and  not  long 
Before  the  lion  of  his  nature  starts, 
In  cold  defiance  of  the  clamorous  throng, 
To  slay  his  offering;  and  his  lips  poured  out 
The  very  thunder-throe  of  earnest  prayer; 
A  fervency  that  would  not  harbor  doubt, 
That  ever  is  a  stranger  to  despair. 
Long,  earnest,  loud  and  fervently,  he  prayed; 
And  his  gray  locks  ensilvering  the  breeze, 
Gave  pathos,  to  the  torrent  thus  unstayed; 
Yet,  not  for  self,  did  he  the  an^el  seize; 


32  MONTEZUMA. 

But  wrestled  for  his  people  thus  misled. 
"  Unscale  their  eyes,  O  Father!"  so  he  pled. 
"  Unstop  their  ears,  O  thou,  All  Powerful  One 
That  they  may  hear  thy  footfall  on  the  wind. 
Come  in  thy  flame,  and  purge  them  with  thy  fire. 
Strike  off  the  fetters  from  their  prisoned  souls  ! 
Make  me  an  offering  for  their  flagrant  sins, 
And  I  will  bare  my  bosom  to  the  knife, 
And  bend  my  neck  in  cheerfulness  to  thee, 
So  thou  wilt  save  my  people  from  the  hand 
Of  this  misguided  witch  of  Mizraim!" 
His  prayer  had  hardly  ceased,   ere  shot  the  flame, 
From  upper  zenith,  down,  and  in  one  glow, 
Pierced  the  whole  altar  with  impetuous  claim, 
And  lapped  the  other  with  its  overflow. 
The  crowd,  transfixed  with  wonder  at  the  scene, 
Could  hardly  trust  the  witness  of  their  eyes, 
And  held  divided  counsels,  till  the  King 
Quenching  the  current  of  their  late  surprise, 
Poured  his  recruited  anger  on  Kohen. 

"  Why  longer  parley,  with  a  thing  so  plain  ? 

Old  Kohen  had  no  warrent  for  this  deed; 
The  palm  was  Uri's  who  did  rightly  gain 

Fire  from  the  sun,  to  him  alone,  we  plead  ; 
He  drew  it  first,  old  Kohen  must  admit, 

And  he  should  paid  due  homage  to  our  god  ; 
And  from  what  source  did  his  become  enlit? 


MOMT./rMA. 


33 


"We  serve  no  phantom,  with  its  hidden  nod, 
But  look  upon  the  face  of  him  we  serve  ; 

The  sun  has  kept  his  fire  for  us  these  years, 
And  we,  his  children,  never  can  deserve 

His  untold  blessings;  though  our  prayers  and  tears, 
Should  mingle  with  each  altar  that  we  raise 

In  all  the  future  ages,  still  our  debt 
Will  always  be  uncancelled  by  our  praise 

And  all  our  past  be  covered  with  regret. 
We  want  no  juggling  on  this  sacred  day, 

That  gives  us  back  the  father,  we  had  lost. 
Bind  old  Kohen,  and  hasten  him  away, 

He  shall  repay  his  treachery  with  cost. 
To-morrow  shall  another  altar  grace 

This  precious  grove,  made  sacred  to  the  sun, 
And  Kohen  shall  be  offered  in  this  place, 

To  pay  the  sacrilege  he  had  begun." 

In  thy  own  way  our  Father ;  we  must  wait 

So  many  times,  because  we  cannot  see  ; 
Yet  thou  alone  canst  bring  us  to  the  gate, 

How  slowly  do  we  learn  to  trust  in  thee  ! 
Yet,  in  withholding,  are  the  blessings  hid, 

As  frequent  as  in  giving  ;  all  our  prayers 
If  they  result  in  doing  but  thy  bid, 

Will  scatter  diamond  dust  above  our  cares. 
The  gray  old  Prophet  murmured  :  "Let  God's  will 

Be  done,  and  in  abeyance  I  will  bare  my  breast, 


34  MONTEZUMA. 

"  I  will  not  doubt  him  though  indeed  he  kill, 
His  chosen  way  must  surely  be  the  best." 

The  morrow  came  and  at  the  King's  command 

The  multitude  assembled,  and  the  guard 
Brought  forth  the  Prophet,  looking  proudly  grand 

As  some  great  warrior  claiming  his  reward 
Of  beys  and  laurels,  wreathed  into  a  crown; 

They  rear  the  pile  and  he  awaits  his  doom 
Without  a  menace,  and  without  a  frown. 
Then  turning  to  the  press  :   "  I  will  assume 
Your  hearts  are  mine,  my  sons,  I  know  it  well; 
Your  eyes  beheld  the  witness  of  our  God, 
And  greatly  were  ye  moved ;  but  'tis  his  will 
That  I  should  join  my  fathers  in  that  land, 
Where  canker  and  corruption  never  comes, 
The  why,  and  wherefore  of  it,  is  his  own  ; 
I  bow  my  head  in  thankfulness  to  him, 
That  he  has  deemed  me  worthy  to  exchange 
A  life  of  sorrow  for  a  crown  of  love. 

"  Ye  are  the  servants  of  an  earthly  King, 
And  God  has  suffered  him  to  lead  you  off, 
His  will  be  done  ;  but  I  must  tell  you  now 
Your  future  as  I  read  it  in  the  glass 
Of  my  illumined  death: 

"  I  see  the  black 
Of  Mizraim,  sweep  the  brown  of  Lud  from  off 


MONTI  XIM\.  35 

The  face  of  Egypt;  and  I  also  see 

A  wandering  race,  go  northward,  and  to  east; 

I  see  a  bitter  wintering  of  snow; 

I  see  the  sun  hide  back  his  face  from  them; 

I  see  a  boisterous  buffeting  at  sea; 

I  see  a  journey  southward — a  new  world." 

"  And  centuries  flow  swiftly  on  my  sight. 
A  people  proudly  resting  in  their  wealth  ; 
The  Son  of  God,  in  the  full  flight  of  years ; 
The  conquest  of  the  nations  in  his  name. 
A  proud  and  prosperous  people    cross  the  sea 
And  swoop  upon  this  nation  of  the  sun  ; 
Their  temples  crumble  in  the  hand  of  God 
And  he  takes  bark  his  own.     All  this  I  see- 
As  what  cannot  avert ;  it  is  God's  way, 
And  wisdom  is  the  wastage  of  his  throne. 
He  cannot  order  wrongly  ;  I  submit 
My  wasting  image  to  his  waiting  hands : 
"Come  Father  !     I  am  ready." 

He  raised  him  to  the  pile  ;  with  look  divine, 

He  prone  himself  upon  it ;  at  the  sign 

The  Prophet  Uri  raised  the  crystal  stone ; 

The  sun  threw  down  its  rays,  and  shot  the  flame 

Full  to  the  center ;  as  the  altar  shone, 

Kurh  eye  was  turned,  and  every  voice  was  tame, 

As  down  the  chancel  of  the  deep  blue  sky, 


36  MONTEZUMA. 

A  flaming  chariot  sped,  and  came  a  cry  : 

"It  is  enough,  come  higher  up  ;  thou  shalt 

Not  suffer  death."     A  hand,  not  human,  caught 

The  grand  old  Prophet ;  his  recumbent  form 

Rose  on  their  dazzled  sight  as  rainbow  in  the  storm. 

Thus  was  the  error  fixed ;  and  it  is  well 
We  leave  them  to  their  blindness  for  a  while. 
Misguided  worship,  left  alone,  will  tell 
Its  own  pathetic  story  :  there  is  guile 
To  underlie  each  sorrow  of  the  race. 
Fruit  comes  alone  from  seed  ;  somewhere  is  sown 
The  germ  of  every  grief,  and  nature  on  its  face 
Bears  no  repentant  feature ;  as  we  plant,  so  shall  the  tree 
be  grown. 

EXPULSION  FROM  EGYPT. 

The  seasons  pass,  till  on  their  hands  they  count 

Four  palms,  and  to  the  third,  a  score  and  three 
In  life's  meridian  how  the  circles  mount 

That  measure  our  existence,  if  there  be 
No  canker  worm  that  clogs  the  ready  wheel ; 

If  care  hangs  not  upon  the  skirts  of  time  ; 
And  if,  like  most  mankind,  we  only  feel 

Its  gentle  passing,  by  the  hills  we  climb 
In  ambling,  easy  way,  and  retrospect 

Surprises  into  thought,  and  we  wake  up 


MONTEZUMA.  37 

To  feel  how  swift  we  journey.     We  reflect 

After  reflection  barrens  of  its  fruit,  the  cup 
Which  we  have  mixed  we  drink  ;  if  it  be  gall 

We  gulp  it  down  the  same  ;  we  cannot  change 
The  current  of  our  lives,  and  useless  is  the  call 

On  any  but  the  hand  of  God.     'Tis  strange 
The  miracle  of  life  should  ever  pass 

And  print  no  letters  deep  into  the  soul  ! 
The  years  go  by,  and,  but  the  tuft  of  grass 

More  reverent  than  we,  tells  o'er  our  dust  its  rosary,  in 
deep  green  scroll. 

MIZRAIM  AND  LUD. 

Near  the  rim  of  Karoun,  where  the  pyramids  drink   the 

dew  that  should  dampen  the  soil  ; 
And  the  Nilus  pours  over  its  green  level  banks,  its  annual 

freightage  of  spoil ; 
Where  the  date  ripens  dark  to  the  child  of  the  sun,  and 

the  pomegranate  colors  for  fruit ; 
The  ibis  is  sounding  the  damps  of  the  land,  and  earth  in 

its  plethory  mute. 

The  fat  of  the  fields  husks  the  voice  of  the    morn,    while 

Demeter  isweighing  her  sheaves  ; 
The  lotus  has  honied  its  lips  for  the  kiss,  "and  the  turtle 

in  mockery  grieves." 
What  is  that,  where  the  Orient  gathers  her  gold,  and  the 

eye  wanders  back  to  the  sea? 


38  MONTEZUMA. 

What  cloud  on  the  horizon's  breach  can  be  seen  ?  What 
wakens  the  vulture's  rude  glee? 

'  Tis  the  shock  of  the  battle  that   burdens    the   air,   and 

the  armies  that  burden  the  eye  ; 
They    have    met    (could    Elysian    give   landscape    more 

fair  ?),  have  met  to  embrace  and  to  die. 
The  Prophet  still  lives,  and  has  led  to  the  sun  all  Egypt  ; 

and  gathered  as  one 
The  people  to  hallow  the  harvest-moon  feast,  ere  the  work 

of  the  year  is  done. 

But  Mizraim  outnumbers  the  children  of  Lud,  and  the 
shepherd  kings,  crafty  and  weak,  ' 

Have  laid  tasks  on  their  shoulders  too  heavy  to  bear,  till 
the  voice  of  their  burden  must  speak. 

In  vain  the  gray  Prophet  lifts  up  to  his  god  his  winglet  of 
prayer  for  peace  ; 

The  tempest  of  war  has  broke  over  the  plain,  and  his  al 
tars-  can  bring  no  surcease. 

The  black  and  the  bronze,  the  iron  and  brass  ;  how  they 

struggle  and  grip  for  the  field  ! 
The  spear  and  the  arrow,  the  halbert  and  lance,  and  who 

shall  be  first  to  yield  ? 
Not  the  iron  ;  it  is  strong  and  resistless  in  weight.   Not  the 

brass  ;  it  is  beaten  and  firm. 
What  a  hecateof  agony  burdens  the  plain  !  what  a  banquet 

for  vulture  and  worm  ! 


MONTEZUM  \.  39 

But  the  iron  is  too  heavy,  the  brass  is  too  thin,  and  un 
der  the  weight  it  gives  way, 

As  a  wall,  that  is  breached  and  toppled  by  time  ;  and  Miz- 
raim  gains  the  day. 

Oppression,  when  reversed,  is  double  weight  ; 

The  Slave  pours  lead  into  the  lash  he  bore ; 

And,  as  the  Master  adds  recruited  hate 

To  blows,  that  he  has  learned  to  feel  before, 

The  soul  its  letters  of  forgiveness  learns 

From  only  one  great  Master,  in  all  time  ; 

Revenge  is  human,  and  forever  burns 

Upon  the  trackway  of  retreating  crime. 

The  text  and  testwork  of  their  lives  was  lost  ; 

And  when  the  King  was  slain,  and  they  o'erthrown, 

His  people  paid  their  tyranny  with  cost. 

Only  the  Prophet,  with  his  magic  stone, 

Could  purchase  their  withdrawal  ;  they  must  leave 

(They  were  the  early  jewels  of  the  sun) 

And  Uri  pledged  their  fortunes  to  retrieve, 

If  they  would  journey,  where  the  day  begun, 

And  seek  the  closer  presence  of  their  god, 

In  paths  where  human  feet  had  never  trod. 

They  must  divide  with  Egypt ;  but  go  out 

Well  laden  for  the  journey  ;  should  they  dare 

To  turn,  the  heavy  hand  of  Mizraim  would  not  spa iv. 


4°  MONTEZUMA. 

^Kgyptus  !  thou  above  thy  gates  hath  writ 
So  many  times  the  monosylbic  "  when." 
We,  weary  of  conjecture ;  round  us  flit 
The  phantoms  of  the  past ;  and  we  again 
Pass  in  review  thy  pages,  black  with  mold  ; 
Intemperate  within  a  crumbling  earth, 
Against  the  char  of  empires  thou  dost  hold 
The  charms  that  emulate  immortal  birth. 
We  write  mutation  on  the  brow  of  Time  ; 
Thou  art  the  changeless  one  of  all  the  world- 
Thou  hast  no  brotherhood  in  any  clime; 
All  mortal  barbets  have  in  vain  been  hurled. 


"Time  conquers  all  things?  "  Thou  giv'st  back  the  lie  ; 
Above  its  ruins,  thou  dost  stand,  serene — 
Eternity  ! — Must  thou,  perforce,  then  die  ? 
What  tragedy  hast  thou,  indeed,  not  seen  ? 
Must  thou,  too,  look  on  death?  thou  wilt  not  dim  ; 
But  in  impassive  slumber,  thou  wilt  fall 
As  sinks  the  sun,  beneath  the  horizon's  rim, 
And  answer  only  the  Archangel's  call. 
We  leave  thee  loathely,  for  our  souls  are  wed 
To  thy  enchanted  gardenhood  of  lore. 
"The  morning  stars  sang  joy"  above  thy  bed, 
The  nations,  in  their  cerements,  shall  pass    thy  door, 
And  earth  be  wrapped  in  ashes  ere  thy  brow    shall    bear 
the  fatal  legend,  "  Nevermore," 


MONTEZUMA.  4 1 

I  111'  Mol'RMXG  SHEPHERDS 

The  tambour'  is  silent,  O  god  of  the  Nile  ! 

The  harp  has  been  hung  in  acacian  shade. 
\Ve  arc  bowed  to  the  earth,  we  are  broken  and  bent, 

And  the  blade  of  our  fathers  in  dust  has  been  laid. 

We  came,  as  the  simoom  creeps  over  the  plain  ; 
\\V  came,  as  the  tiger  its  covert  forsakes  ; 
As  the  hurricane  brushes  the  dust  from  the  brakes  ; 
As  the  lightning  leaps  out  and  the  thunder-god  shakes. 

\Ve  are  shorn  of  our  strength  as  with  plague  we  are  smote; 

The  axe  has  been  wrenched   from    the  hands  that  are 

brawn, 
And  the  arms  whose  strong  sinews  till  now  were. unbent 

Have  been  broken  as  brittles  ;  our  prowess  is  gone. 

O  !  thou  bright  shining  god  !  with    thy  scintles  of  gold; 

If  thy  children  have  gathered  the  glow  of  thy  face, 
If  thy  kisses,  ere  warmed  to  the  lips  that  are  cold, 

O  we  pray  !  let  us  feel  thy  impassioned  embrace. 

We  are  journeying  forth  to  the  cradle  of  morn, 

Where  thy  lids  feel  the  weight  of  their  slumbering  still; 

\Ve  would  kneel  at  thy  bed  where  the  seasons   are   born, 
And  learn  from  thy  lips  the  whole  law  of  thy  will. 

Have  we  sinned  in  thy  sight  ?  have  we  slackened  our  pace  ? 
Arc  we  paying  the  forfeit  in  wormwood  of  shame? 


42  MONTEZUMA. 

We  draw  nearer  to  thee,  and  our  lives  we  would  place 
In  the  hands  of  the  Maker,  that  out  of  thy  flame 

We  may  gather  that  fire  that  shall  glow  with  thy  love  ; 

And  will  never  grow  dim  through  the  future    of  years, 
That  shall  make  us  like  thee,  and  our  fealty  prove 

'Till  we  learn  to  forget  this  dark  trackhood  of  tears. 

As  we  turn  to  the  East,  wilt  thou  smile  on  our  way  ? 

Wilt  thou  lessen  the  distance  between  us  and  thee  ? 
Or  our  hearts  remain  hungry,  the  shadow  still  stay 

With  its  wizard  arm  lifted  to  smite  as  we  flee. 

We  doubt  thee  no  longer — we  know  thou  wilt  aid ; 

We  turn  to  the  path  where  thy  morning  rays  shine  ; 
WTe  will  seek  thy  first  footfall,  and  all  unafraid, 

We  feel  thee,  we  love  thee,  we  know  we  are  thine. 

We  leave  the  old  life,  with  the  graves  of  our  kin, 
We  turn  from  the  sunset  of  dampness  and  death, 

We  turn  where  the  light  with  its  god  doth  begin, 

And  the  praise  of  the  day-king  embalms  every  breath; 

Where  the  sun  slakes  his  thirst  with  the  dew  of  the  flow 
ers, 

Where  the  night  flees  before  him  far  into  the  west, 
Where  the  honey-dew  clingsto  the  fruit-laden  hours, 

Where  the  soul  sets  its  table,  with  Joy  as  its  guest. 

So  does  our  faith  stand  out  against  our  grief ; 
So  does  our  hope  grow  up  into  belief. 


MONTEZl  M  \.  43 

One  God?     Yes,  Father,  Thou  !  and  only  One. 
We  praise  thee  ;  yet,  our  praise  is  only  done, 
When  we  extol  thee  for  the  gift  of  faith. 
Not  every  one  can  name  thee ;  but  each  breath 
May  be  enladen  with  the  thought  of  praise 
And  all  adore  thy  attributes — the  ways 
That  they  adore  thee  are  not  always  thine  ; 
Yet,  do  they  bend  to  thy  great  thoroughfare  and  shine 
With  light  from  the  Eternal  throne ;  'tis  well, 
Nor  otherwise  than  good — it  can  but  swell 
The  choral  of  thy  praise  ;  and  in  the  end 
These  thousand  thoughts   of  Deity,  in  thee,  not    fail  to 
blend. 

THE    JOURNEY. 

O  thou  !  who  charmed  the  demons  in  the  breast 
Of  Saul,  and  set  the  universal  voice 
Of  all  the  earth  to  thy  unflagging  song  ; 
Thou  royal  shepherd  !  bend  for  us  across 
The  bridge  of  ages  thy  leant  lips,  and  pour 
The  echo  of  thy  music  on  our  souls. 

And  Thou  of  Nazareth  !  whose  very  life 
Was  as  the  cadence  of  a  well-strung  harp, 
Thyself  the  instrument,  upon  whose  strings, 
Ten  thousand  symphonies  are  left  entranced  ; 
Pour  in  the  empty  vial  of  our  verse, 
Some  of  thy  soul  of  music,  and  let  shine 


44  MONTEZUMA. 

Through  every  darkened  crevice  of  the  heart, 
Rays  of  celestial  sunshine.     Not  in  vain 
Our  humble  dalliance,  if  thou  set  the  charm 
Of  thine  approval.     Let  our  song  be  praise 
And  devotate  our  hands,  that  there  be  left 
No  tissue,  but  is  animate  of  Thee  ! 

The  seas  reach  out  to  clasp  each  other's  hands, 
The  greater  and  the  less,  and  leap  the  sands 
That  tear  in  two  their  waters  ;  but  not  so 
She  of  the  Nile  ;  her  rights  will  not  forego. 
The  hand  that  rocks  the  crib  of  empire  holds 
A  charm,  that  locks  the  East  and  West  in  one 
The  track  of  nations  is  her  beaten  path, 
And  undisputed,  till  the  earth  be  done. 
Man  may  disturb  it,  but  the  hand  of  God 
Has  placed  a  thousand  tokens  on  this  sod. 

The  flocks  are  gathered,  and  the  flight  began, 
Old  Uri  and  attendants  in  the  van  ; 
The  portents  were  of  good  as  far  as  seen, 
Each  breast  a  shrine  of  hope  ;  thus  early  man 
Gave  little  time  to  sorrow — after  years 
Were  left  for  its  fruition ;    light  of  heart, 
These  early-planted  germlets  of  the  earth, 
Took  their  reverses  in  the  better  part 
Of  hardihood  ;  they  had  thus  early  learned, 
That  in  the  chafe  of  fortune  there  is  gain  ; 


MONTEZUMA.  -\S 

That  scars  are  coronets,  though  they  be  burned 

Deep  in  the  brow  of  care;   each  gem  a  pain. 

Our  philosophic  age  with  heavy  draught, 

1  )rinks  deep  in  phantasies,  but  fails  to  learn 

The  wiser  lesson  of  this  early  craft, 

To  catch  the  wheel  of  fortune  with  each  turn. 

East  over  .Syria  they  bent  their  steps, 

Meeting  Euphrates  many  leagues  above 
Where  Babylon  since  molded  into  form 

Her  mystical  proportions  ;  and  so  strove 
Persistently  the  mastery  of  earth. 

Crossing  the  Tigris  but  a  span  below, 
Where  Taurus  from  his  fountains  feeds  the  stream, 

They  traverse  Persia  with  its  after-glow 
Of  conquest  ;  where  Ispahan  gave  touch, 
To  chords  that  deify  the  voice  of  song, 
And  mellow  through  the  ages,  if  so  much 
As  but  an  echo  would  inspire  the  tongue, 
With  that  enchantment,  that  rolls  down  the  course 
Of  her  great  history.     We  seek  in  vain 
Another  Cyrus,  or  another  force 
Of  Scripture  fulfillment,  with  lesser  pain, 
And  Time's  repleted  garner  has  no  riper  grain. 

Still  East  they  cross  the  Amoo,  and  above 
Where  now,  Bokhara's  languor  and  repose 
Invites  the  Sclavic  hordes  in  summer  quest 
Of  forage.     And  Belor,  giant  like,  still  throws 


46  MONTEZUMA. 

Its  shadow  o'er  the  landscape  ;    and  the  Koosh 

Shortens  the  noon  of  summer,  from  the  South  ; 

A  thousand  sparkling  torrents  downward  rush, 

And  pour  their  waste  of  waters  in  the  mouth 

Of  Indus.     They  cross  where  Eelor  melts  its  snow, 

To  placid  Cashgar's  arms,  sending  below 

A  current  to  the  waste  of  farther  Nor. 

They  stand  on  Cobis'  southern  girt,  and  drink 

The  final  retrospective  of  the  West ; 

And  keep  the  gloomy  borders  to  the  brink 

Of  far-off  Koulon,  where  the  Argoon  lends 

Its  mite  of  wastage  to  the  vast  Amour  ; 

And  trie  impetuous  Shilka,  swiftly  sends 

Its  tribute  to  the  master  of   Mantchoor. 

One  winter  they  had  spent  upon  the  way, 
Within  the  vale  of  Cashgar,  where  the  flocks 
Found  generous  herbage  ;  but  they  could  not  stay 
Longer  than  opening  spring,  when  from  the  rocks 
And  passes  of  the  Koosh,  a    savage  tribe 
Came  fiercely  on  them  ;  and  again  the  fire 
From  Uri's  sacred  pebble,  as  a  bribe 
Saved  them  from  ruin,  and  the  warlike  ire 
Of  Lama's  devotees,  for  even  then 
On  upper  Ind,  his  worship  had  begun  ; 
But  superstition,  ranks  us  all   as  men, 
And  mystery  doth  mold  us  into  one. 


MONTEZUMA.  47 

The  Argoon  and  the  Shilka  passed  ;  they  keep 
Their  steady  march,  down  Armour's  limpid  tide. 
Yet  summer  wastes  to  autumn.      Seasons  creep 
So  noiselessly,  that  our  souls  are   Open   wide. 
It"  we  set  watch  upon  them;  unaware 
They  find  us  napping,  in  our  wakeful  age  ; 
And  how  much  more,  in    the  unrisen  sun 
Of  ancient  man  !    We  wonder  that  the  page 
Is  not  more  blurred  and  blotted  in  the  years 
That  are  far  gone,   when    knowledge    only    bubbled    up 
through  tears. 

A  Winter  on  the  Amour  near  the  sea  ; 

The  Frost  King  strokes  his  heavy  beard  in  glee, 

In  surfeit  of  his  triumph,  o'er  the  foe 

That  dares  invade  his  borders  ;  and  the  snow 

Scatters  its  fleecy  fullness  o'er  the  land, 

Hiding  the  face  of  Nature  with  its  hand 

So  cold  and  clasping.      O  'tis  very  hard  ! 

To  see  familiar  faces  pass  the  ward 

Of  our  immediate  contact,  and  the  earth 

Draw  back  into  its  arms,  with  tightening  girth 

Our  loved  ones.     But  'tis  a  heavier  lot 

To  see  our  mother  Earth,  whose  faithful  breast 

Has  never  failed  to  aid  ;  so  chilled  in  death 

That  it  cannot  respond,  though  it  be  rest, 

Recuperent  and  needful ;  still  the  same 

When  we  are  starving  for  its  warm  caress, 


4  MONTEZUMA. 

And  cannot  spare  its  nursing,  when  our  claim 
Is  mortal,  and  we  feel  the  strong  hand  press 
Our  vitals  ;  and  we  labor  for  our  breath  ; 
And  Famine  lends  its  wizard  hand,  to  fill  the  tooth  of 
death. 

Old  Uri  vainly  calls  the  shining  god  ; 

Though  it  may  light  his  altar,  still  the  flame 
Is  but  a  weakling  ;  and  the  weary  host 

Were  wrangling  at  his  impotence,  and  tame 
His  efforts  to  assuage  them.     He  had  taught 

His  followers  of  a  near  approach ;  the  sun 
Seemed  coy  of  his  endeavors,  for  the  thought 

Of  zone  or  solstice,  had  not  then  begun, 
And  Winter  was  their  time  of  penance,  when 

Their  god  rode  low,  and  frowned  him  out  of  sight. 
They  offered  for  his  anger  many  gifts, 

And  set  their  watchmen  to  outwake  the  night. 
In  question  of  his  rising.     Why  should  he 

Keep  so  much  closer  the  horizon's  rim 
When  they  were  in  his  quest,  and  sought  the  verge 

Of  farthest  empire,  in  their  reach  of  him  ? 
O  empty  arms  !  and  ever  reaching  out, 

Fold  in  the  blessings  that  your  hands  enclose. 
There  is  nor  reason,  nor  excuse  for  doubt, 

The  river  of  God's  love  so  near  you  flows. 
Your  very  feet  are  on  the  water's  brink, 

His  very  arms  are  all  around  you  thrown, 


MONTEZUMA.  49 

You  touch  him  in  your  timidness,  and  shrink 

To  his  embraces ;  no  human  soul  was  ever  yet   alone. 

They  settle  down  to  Winter,  and  their  flocks 
Must  furnish  sustenance,  until  the  sun 
Shall  break  their  penance,  and  embrown  the  locks 
Of  the  o'ergristled  seasons ;  and  this  won, 
They  counsel  further  movement.     Uri  speaks  : 
"Sons  of  the  Summer  God,  I  little  thought 
When  we  set  out  from  Egypt,  that  our  feet 
Would  be  thus  bruised  and  bled  ;  but  it  is  well. 
We  learn  the  lesson  of  our  latent  sin; 
This  trial  of  our  faith  will  make  us  whole, 
If  we  but  draw  the  diamond  out  of  it. 
We  have  not  vainly  trod  the  heavy  press 
Of  our  affliction,  if  we  firmly  breast 
The  waters.     I  have  kept  faithful  watch — 
We  are  but  self-styled  lords,  and  forfeit  much 
Of  our  asserted  masterhood  ;  the  birds 
Make  many  less  mistakes — we  used  to  note 
The  flight  of  waterfowl  in  Egypt.    Why 
Should  we  not  learn  their  wisdom  in  this  clime  ? 
Before  the  sun  sank  low,  and  Winter  came 
(Led  by  a  providence  that  makes  all  things 
To  minister  our  wants),  I  watched  the  birds, 
And  many,  turned  to  East,  across  the  sea. 
We  lose  our  way  sometimes,  they  never  do ; 
They  are  much  closer  children  to  the  sun 


5  °  MONTEZUMA. 

Than  we,  by  their  dependence — we  need  help 
As  much  as  any  feathered  wingster  does — 
And  yet  we  push  it  back,  when  we  might  reach 
And  find  a  steady  hand.      Let  us  go  to 
And  make  us  ships  ;  that  when  the  Spring 
Shall  beckon  back  to  life  the  dormant  earth, 
And  all  the  birds  turn  back  in  countermarch, 
We  fly  against  their  flight,  and  reach  the  clime 
From  whence  the  sun  has  warned  them  to  return 
To  this  cold  country  of  the  nether  earth. 

"  -Behold  !  these  rugged  trees  stand  stout  for  us, 
And  ready  for  our  architrave  ;  and  we 
Were  better  wont  to  labor  than  to  dole 
Our  time  in  murmurs  at  our  fate.      Up  !  up! 
And  do  !  and  though  we  suffer  overmuch, 
Our  labor  shall  not  vainly  mock  at  us. 
Even  old  Kohen  saw  a  journey  South, 
When  he  did  burn  our  eyes,  as  he  went  up, 
And  he  saw  fat  and  plenty  in  the  land 
Where  his  prophetic  eye  did  cast  our  lot ; 
And  we  will  not  mistrust  what  leads  to  light, 
Though  it  be  lifted  in  a  demon's  hand." 

The  forests  gave  to  them  their  virgin  palms, 
And  they  did  rudely  shape  them  into  crafts  ; 

Made  ready  for  the  flood,  when  the  warm  sun 
Should  waken  nature  with  enlivening  draughts  ; 


UHIVBKSITY 


Hut  Spring  wore  into  Summer,  ere  the  birds 

Gave  the  unspoken  pledge  of  their  return. 
The  sun,  still  coy,  refused  to  climb  as  high 

As  it  had  done  in  Egypt ;  still  they  burn 
With  new-born  hope,  as  they  float  down  to  sea, 

And,  moving  counter  to  their  winged  friends, 
Cross  to  Lopatka,  where  they  only  wait 

Replenishment,  which  nature  always  sends, 
Where  faith  is  instinct  as  in  lower  life, 

(The  birds  teach  providence,  without  a  chance, ) 
And  so  they  wander  on,  to  the  Aleutes  ; 

Passing  and  calling,  as  they  still  advance, 
They  reach  to  where  Alaska  strikes  the  sea, 

In  severance  to  meet  them.     They  kept  on, 
Feeding  on  eggs  of  seabirds,  and  the  meats 

That  everywhere  supplied  them.     They  have  gone 
So  far  on  Nature's  very  track,  and  now 

A  narrow  river  beckons  their  research, 
And  they  pass  upward,  till  a  mountain  range 

Confronts  their  passage,  like  a  royal  perch 
From  which  the  gods  might  frown  their  hardihood, 

Fur  this  intrusion  of  another  world. 
Hut  they  have  battled  with  the  plague  and  flood  ; 

And  though  Olympus  all  his  thunders  hurled, 
They  had  not  turned  ;  they  saw  the  earnest  need 

Of  pushing  forward  ere  the  sun  turned  back, 
And  so  they  crossed  to  where  the  eastern  slope, 
Feeds  the  McKenzie.    Here  an  easy  track 


52  MONTEZUMA. 

Leads  down  and  cuts  the  stronger  range  in  two, 

A  little  while  among  its  shadows  grope, 
When  the  broad  prospect  opened  to  their  view. 

They  follow  the  receding  sun  in  hope, 
Still  bearing  to  the  east  their  steady  trend, 
Hoping  to  win  their  God  to  close  embrace  ; 
And  morn  and  eve  around  their  altars  bend 
In  thankfulness,  that  they  still  see  his  face. 
Through  many  valleys,  virgin  to  their  sight, 
And  many  lakes,  whose  bosoms  never  stirred 
To  man,  the  weak  pretender  of  God's  might ; 
But   nature   spreads  her  happy  hearth    with    beast    and 
flower  and  bird. 


PART    SI<:COND. 

AZTLAN. 

THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    MISSISSIPPI. 

Father  of  Waters  !  Nilus  of  the  West ! 

Thou  holdst  thy  secrets  from  the  sons  of  men  ; 
A  knowledge  of  the  past  which  none  would  wrest 

Or  wish  to  circumscribe  with  tongue  or  pen 
To  the  weak  bonds  of  history  ;  but  rather  stand 
With  old  De  Soto  on  thy  banks,  and  reverence  the  hand 
That  drew  the  fetters  from  thy  limbs,   and  set  thee    first 

at  birth, 
On  thy  unmuzzled  pilgrimage,  without  a  peer  on  earth. 

Better  thy  unbroke  seal,  if  it  would  teach 
The  ponderous  worm  of  destiny,  called  man  ; 
How  great  things  may  be  hidden  from  his  reach, 
And  mighty  things  be  silent,  that  his  span 
Is  but  a  hand-breadth  to  the  great  unknown, 
A  thistle-down,  before  the  breezes  blown, 
That  silent  and  unseen  God  turns  the  mighty  mill, 
And    on    the    brow  of  giant  force  he  writes   his  words, 
"Be  still." 

The  possibles  of  time,  are  all  thine  own. 
Thou  hast  not  reared  thy  monuments  of  stone 


54  MONTEZUMA. 

To  overtop  the  pyramids,  yet  wrought 

In  shapely  mounds,  thy  sculpturehood,  and  caught 

From  flying  Time,  the  lustre  of  his  wing, 

Which  gives  the  semblance  of  perpetual  Spring 

To  thy  vast  lap  of  luxuries ;  in  thee 

(Since  man  first  pinioned  thee  to  history) 

Is  found  the  acme  of  a  world's  desire. 

Thy  unknown  crucial  test,  has  passed  the  fire 

Of  many  fading  centuries ;  let  none  inquire 

The  secrets  of  thy  conquest :  be  thou  shut  up  with  God, 

The  master  molding  of  his  hand— the  jewel  of  his  rod  ! 

Yet  in  the  book  of  Nature  there  is  writ, 
Without  exception,  all  her  energies, 
As  line  by  line,  her  page  becomes  enlit; 
Yielding  to  man  some  new  and  glad  surprise, 
As  Agassiz,  together  works  with  her, 
To  make  the  earth,  her  own  interpreter; 
And  such  a  giant,  must  not  hope  to  hide 
The  unfading  Sanscrit,  written  on  its  side. 

Thy  brow  wast  glistered  with  the  frost  of  years, 

Ere  man's  first  rapture,  at  the  sight  of  thee  ; 

Yet,  were  thy  banks  unswelled,  by  falling  tears 

Till  he  tore  back  thy  splendid  tapestry— 

The  bison  and  the  deer  unfrighted  came 

To  lave  upon  thy  borders,  all  were  tame, 

In  their  untoilsome  frolics  ;  and  the  beasts  and  birds. 

Made  rolic  at  thy  feet,   in  songs  not  marred  with  words. 


MOXTEZUMA.  55 

But  sorrow  comes  with  knowledge  ;  'tis  the  tree, 

That  bears  the  samest  fruit  in  even'  zone — 

The  tale  of  Eden  is  no  mystery, 

The  tree  will  verify  wherever  grown. 

And  yet,  in  God's  own  providence  'tis  best, 

That  Eden  be  repeated  East  and  West  ; 

If  knowledge  in  the  first,  brought   sorrowhood  to   earth, 

The  power  to  laugh  and  cry,  were  purchased  at  one  birth. 

They  stand  upon  thy  borders:     Mighty  Stream  ! 

We  will  not  pry  thy  silent  lips  apart, 

To  ask  thee  when,  and  how,  the  Prophet's  dream 

Reached  its  fulfillment ;  treasured  in  thy  heart, 

Let  it  remain  as  many  other  things 

Are  left ;  our  language  lessens  their  effect, 

And  makes  them  small  in  words, — the  very  springs 

Of  our  existence,  are  not  shown  correct, 

When  crowded  into  verbage, — so  we  lay 

Our  beys  upon  thee,  and  we  feel  'tis  thine  ; 

Thine  every  secret,  of  the  grand  emprise, 

With  only  one  unlicensed  hand,  the  Hand  of  the  Divine. 

It  is  enough  that  after  waste  and  want 
And  weariness  of  spirit  they  have  found 
A  rest  upon  thy  margin,  that  thy  arms 
Are  opened  to  enclose  them,  and  the  sound 
Of  human  voices  mingle  with  the  notes 
Of  myriad  waterfowl.     The  thousand  throats 
Of  thy  unmeasured  pasture,  blend  in  praise 


5  6  MONTEZUMA. 

To  the  All  Father  for  the  countless  ways 
That  point  his  providence.     The  raven's  cry 
Strikes  never  vainly,  thy  omniscient  ear, 
No  effort,  but  is  answered  "here  am  I," 
No  prayer  but  finds  the  parent  very  near. 

The  unconscious  hallelujahs  of  the  plain, 
The  untaught  praises  of  the  lofty  trees, 
The  waving  upward  palms  of  laden  grain, 
The  mellow  notes  upon  the  evening  breeze, 
The  "reveillies  "  from  off  the  mountain  tops, 
The  nightingale's  "tattoo,"  the  many  lips 
Touched  only  once  by  God,  the  faithful  drops 

That  wear  unceasing  at  the  granite  mine, 
The  praise  that  never  sinks  to  prayer,  the  finger  tips 

That  span  the  universal  zone  of  life ;  all,  all  incline 
To  adoration.     If  we  lose  our  way 

(As  these  poor  souls  had  done)    we  need  but  turn 
To  catch  the  choral  of  the  passing  day. 

Behold  on  every  branch  and  beam  the  altars  burn  ! 
And  all  things  beckon  us  of  God,  if  we  but  bend 

The  enquiring    ear,    and    catch    the    keynote    of  the 

mighty  song 

That  swells  from  all  the  universe;  we  too  may  blend 
In  the  vast  concord,  happiest  of  the  throng. 

The  rhythmal  of  the  angels,  is  not  far 

From  the  first  prattle  of  the  infant's  tongue— 


MONTEZUMA.  57 

Both  caught  the  glitter  of  the  Eastern  star; 

The  harps  were  both,  by  the  same  Master  strung ; 
The  glory  of  the  one,  glows  from  the  face; 
The  other  lifts,  to  meet  its  parent's  kiss. 
Not  very  far,  the  border  land  of  bliss, 
From  every  infant  of  the  human  race. 

The  sacred  fane  of  childhood,  when  first  reared, 
How  like  a  prophecy  it  should  be  read — 

A  thing  to  be  adored,  and  sometimes  feared! 
So  many  unseen  hands,  smooth  down  the  bed 

Of  infancy  ;  we  can  but  jostle  with  our  utmost  care 
Against  angelic  presences  that  bend 

And  print  their  unseen  kisses  on  the  brow, 
And  with  the  infant  earth,  the  Heavenly  essence  blend. 

The  wheel  that  never  tires,  and  ever  turns, 

Crushing  the  neck  of  nations  in  its  round, 
Before  whose  tread,  the  star  of  empire  burns, 

Behind  whose  trend,  the  ridged  and   furrowed  ground 
Gives  mute  quiescence,  to  the  Master  hand  ; 

This  wheel  rolls  on ;  and  now  upon  thy  banks 
Great  River  of  the  West  the  infant's  cry 

Is  mingled  with  the  forest  din;  thy  ranks 
Are  opened  to  admit  the  "lullaby  " 

Of  earth's  last  entity;  thou  did'st  not  groan 
When  buffalo  and  beaver  found  thy  side, 

Nor  when  thy  trees,  first  echoed  to  the  moan 
Of  the  despondent  turtle,  to  his  bride  ; 


5  8  MONTEZUMA. 

And  thou  did'st  smile  on  this  invading  race, 
And  open  thy  broad  prairies,  as  the  palm 

Of  some  great  hearted  giant,  to  embrace 
The  sea-tossed  wanderers,  the  healing  balm 

Of  thy  great  heaving  breast,  rubbed  almost  out 
The  wrinkles  from  the  faces  of  these  sires 

Of  early  Egypt;  they  forgot  the  drought 
And  mildew  of  their  wanderings,  and  the  fires 

Of  their  thanksgiving  altars,  gave  a  zest 
They  never  yet  had  felt ;  an  empire  spread 

Around  them,  in  the  flush  of  its  full  growth 
A  bride,  inviting  the  espousal  bed. 

Their  ranks  had  been  depleted  ;  yet  a  few 

Still  lingered  with  the  Prophet,  who  had  stood 
At  the  first  altar  ;  when  the  fervent  sun 

First  answered  their  entreaty,  and  the  blood 
Was  lapped  by  solar  flame;  and  now,  that  peace 

Enshrines  their  hearts,  and  plenty  spreads  their  board, 
They  warm  towards  their  leader,  and  return 

To  their  old-fashioned  loyalty ;  his  word 
Is  sacred  as  the  smiling  of  the  sun 

Whose  burnished  mirror  likenesses  their  forms, 
And  in  whose  bosom  after  life  is  done, 

The  weary  find  a  shelter  from  all  storms. 
Nor  do  they  want  a  psalmist  for  his  praise, 

But  he  is  found  with  ready  harp  and  voice, 
To  turn  the  multitude,  with  rapturous  gaze, 


MONTEZUMA.  59 

Upon  the  god  of  their  unshaken  choice. 
Their  morning  song  is  mingled  with  the  mirth, 

That  rolics  from  the  sycamore  and  oak, 
The  song  that  swells  the  green  and  fruent  earth, 

That  needs  no  trumpet's  blare,  nor  kettle  stroke. 

THE  MORNING  SONG  OF  THE  MOUND  BUILDERS. 

Once  more  do  we  turn  on  thy  face  our  glad  eyes, 

Great  god  of  the  Summer  !  and  sing, 
With  the  lark  and  the  linnet  we  gladly  arise 

To  welcome  the  smile  of  our  King. 

Our  hearts  are  made  glad  when  we  feel  thee  advance 

On  thy  mission  of  mercy  and  might, 
For  we  know  that  the  stroke  of  thy  conquering  lance, 

Has  shattered  the  bulwarks  of  night. 

We  look  on  they  face,  and  our  doubts  are  dispelled 

By  the  glance  of  thy  mellowing  eye; 
For  we  feel  that  the  rains  by  our  Master  are  held, 

And  we  fear  not  to  do  or  to  die. 

We  felt  thy  embrace,  many  long  weary  years, 
Yet  the  scales  were  not  torn  from  our  eyes; 

We  sought  for  a  father,  with  prayers  and  with  tears 
Till  we  woke  with  a  welcome  surprise. 

And  beheld  from  thy  face,  all  the  fatherhood  shine, 
And  thy  great  glowing  heart  all  ablaze 


60  MONTEZUMA. 

With  the  love,  that  had  lingered  and  grown  more  divine, 
In  the  yearn  of  oin  wandering  days. 

How  we  leaped  to  thy  arms,  when  we  saw  them  extend  ! 

How  we  drank  of  thy  fervent  embrace ! 
With  its  love  like  thyself,  glowing  on  without  end, 

In  the  gold  of  thy  deified  face. 

For  our  eyes  were  unsealed,  and  our  hearts  were  unsealed; 

We  were  melted  to  tears  at  the  thought, 
Of  the  blessings  so  near,  that  had  stood  unrevealed, 

Of  the  Providence  waiting  unsought. 

How  could  we  have  lost  the  firm  grasp  of  thy  hand, 

With  its  daily  improvise  of  love, 
With  its  unsounded  depths,  like  the  count  of  the  sand, 

As  an  index,  to  point  us  above  ? 

And  now  hover  o'er  us,  great  god  of  the  day  ! 

Let  us  never  escape  from  thy  wing, 
For  ever  and  ever,  drive  famine  away, 

Give  wealth  to  our  Summer  and  Spring. 

Give  us  harvests  of  fruit,  give  us  Winters  of  rest — 

Let  thy  Provident  hand  never  cease; 
Grant  the  aged  a  home,  on  thy  great  shining  breast, 

When  their  labors  shall  purchase    release. 

Be  more  than  we  ask,give  us  more  than  our  prayer  — 

All  our  wants,  let  thy  wisdom  disclose, 
Till  our  souls  shall  be  ripe  with  thy  fostering  care, 

And  made  white  for  our  future  repose. 


MONTEZUM  A.  6 1 


I  ill     i  VI  MNG  THANKSGIVING   AND  PRAY1  K. 

Sinking  down  to  thy  rest, 
In  the  deep  crimson  West, 

( '.rent  (iod  !     thou  hast  taught  us  repose; 
With  thy  promised  return, 
Without  doubting,  we  learn, 

To  wait  for  thy  further  disclose. 

In  thy  tenement  high, 

Blazing  over  the  sky, 
Are  thy  sentinels,  pledge  of  the  night; 

And  we  know  by  their  shine, 

That  thy  care  is  divine, 
And  we  rest  without  fear,  till  the  light 

Springs  again  from  the  East 

With  its  glory  increased 
By  the  wakening  pulse  of  the  day; 

And  we  never  will  doubt, 

That  thy  naked  arm,  stout, 
Will  drive  all  the  shadows  away. 

Yet  we  cannot  forebear, 
To  lift  up  our  prayer, 
For  we  know  we  are  wanton  and  weak; 
And  if  once  thou  shouldst  fail, 
Or  thy  face  shouldst  grow  pale, 
\Vhere  else  in  the  world  should  we  seek  ? 


62  MONTEZUMA. 

For  a  father  so  kind, 

To  a  people  so  blind, 
In  our  weakness,  thy  strength  we  may  trace. 

Then  fail  not  to  return, 

Leave  us  never  to  mourn. 
The  wealth  of  thy  daily  embrace. 

O  continue,  we  pray,1 

To  bring  back  the  glad  day  ; 
Give  us  always,  to  look  on  thy  face  ! 

The  trembling  lisp  of  every  human  soul, 

Of  names  more  potent,  then  their  own  can  be, 
Breathes  the  same  lesson  through,  from  pole  to  pole 

To  prove  the  certitude  of  Deity. 
Not  every  eye  turned  upward  can  behold 

The  face  that  faith  alone  shapes  into  form  ; 
Not  every  hand  can  touch  the  gates  of  gold 

That  outward  swing  in  welcome  from  the  storm. 
Yet  is  the  "  Abba  Father  "  pendant  from  each  tongue, 

And  every  soul  a  furnace  for  its  fires ; 
And  sacred  is  each  song  in  earnest  sung, 

When  creature  to  Creator  thus  aspires. 
We  blindly  grope  in  this,  our  broad  of  day, 

The  two  eternities  to  thus  unite  ; 
The  silk  of  infancy  is  turned  to  gray 

Ere  we  have  learned  to  tread  the  path  aright. 
We  force  our  providences  out  of  reach, 

Throw  back  the  hand  our  Father  doth  extend, 


MOMF/IMA.  63 

And  shut  our  ears  that  he  may  vainly  teach, 
And  all  the  wealth  of  heaven  may  expend 

To  warm  us  to  reliance,     shall  we  dare 

To  sneer  at  those  who  grope?  .  We  grapple  air 

When  it  is  all  refulgent  with  our  God, 

And  we  may  touch  his  garment's  hem  in  prayer. 

i  HI    PROPHET'S  DKA  in. 

Groping  in  undiscovered  realms  their  way, 
The  Prophet  and  his  people  give  the  day 
To  rinding  safest  lodgement,  till  they  press 
Well  down  the  grand  old  river,  to  the  mouth 
Of  the  great  Western  confluent — the  south 
Seems  to  add  Summer  to  the  wilderness. 

They  cross  the  river,  and  then  settle  down 

To  love  and  labor  on  its  grassy  banks  ; 
And  fortune  seems  to  have  forgot  its  frown. 

Years  of  repletion  fill  their  shattered  ranks, 
And  youth  and  vigor  take  the  place  of  age  ; 

The  story  of  their  journey  is  retold 
By  only  few  in  number  ;  and  the  sage, 

Who  turned  their  faces  on  their  god  of  gold, 
\Vas  bent  with  the  plethoric  weight  of  years, 
And  summoned  them  to  worship  'mid  the  tears 
Of  many,  who  misgave  his  failing  strength  ; 
He  saw  their  apprehensions  and  at  length 
Called  them  together  for  a  final  word: 


^  4  MONTEZUMA. 

"  Sons  of  the  Summer  God  !  it  is  but  wise 
That  we  look  out  beyond  the  brace  of  years, 
And  question  of  the  future.     All  the  way 
The  shining  surface  of  our  god  has  led 
Our  toilsome  footsteps  ;  we  must  not  forget 
His  daily  nurture,  nor  the  cloth  of  gold 
With  which  he  covers  us — wakeful  with  the  day, 
How  has  he  touched  our  eyelids  with  his  hands, 
And  warmed  us  with  his  hovering  !     The  night 
Has  never  failed  his  promise  of  the  morn. 
How  has  his  parenthood  outwatched  the  stars  ; 
How  has  the  Winter  melted  at  his  glance  ; 
How  has  his  armor  battled  with  the  snows  ! 
With  what  a  tenderness  he  decks  the  fields, 
And  wooes  the  grasses  from  the  dormant  earth, 
And  clothes  the  forest  with  its  robes  of  green, 
As  covert  for  the  bison  and  the  deer, 
That  we  may  find  replenishment  of  food  ! 
His  providence  has  never  failed  our  steps, 
Our  homage  cannot  cancel  his  regard. 

"  Our  father  !  in  this  failing  cup  of  years, 
Help  us  to  be  re-sanctified  to  thee — 
Thou  hast  not  measured  to  our  helplessness, 
But  with  unstinted  hand  filled  up  our  lives 
With  blessings.      Fill  thou  alike  our  hearts, 
That  we  may  have  no  room  to  cherish  doubt, 
But  answer  thy  embraces,  as  the  fields 


Mt'N  I  I  VIM  \. 

I, cap  up  to  kiss  thy  first  recumbent  rays: 
Let  all  our  dross  become  thy  burnished  i<old, 
Shine  through  each  crevice  of  our  stubbornm-^. 
Till  in  transparent   purity,  we  reach 
The  very  essence  of  thy  godliness  : 

"  Brethren  of  the  Sun  ! 
This  altar  is  my  last :  You  see  the  fire 
I. rap  as  an  answer  to  my  late  request, 
And  it  shall  bear  my  spirit  to  the  sun, 
And  cursed  the  hand  that  stays  its  homeward  flight!" 

Fresh  nerved  he  reached  the  altar  with  a  bound, 
And  sank  without  a  murmur  in  the  flame; 

His  followers  an  instant  gather  round, 

But  he  had  passed  out  almost  as  he  came. 

They  did  not  dare  to  drag  him  from  the  pile, 

His  life  and  effort  had  together  ceased, 
He  passed  into  the  future  with  a  smile — 

A  smile,  that  he  had  been  so  quick  released. 
Yet,  there  was  one  (clear-sighted  from  the  rest), 

\Vho  said  she  saw  the  essence  of  his  form, 
In  brighter  effigy,  more  richly  dressed, 

Fly  out  into  the  sunset  ;  and  the  charm 
Of  her  enchanted  parable   found  faith 

In  many  of  the  multitude  ;  his  death, 
So  like  his  life,  had  challenged  all  their  thought 

And  they  were  ready  to  quiesce  his  fate,  and  sought 


66  MONTEZUMA. 

Some  shadowed  miracle  to  wrap  his  shade. 

They  gathered  up  the  ashes,  and  forbade 
Unsanctioned  hands  to  touch  them ;  and  they  reared 

A  rugged  mound  above  the  garnered  dust, 
And  left  him  (one  whom  they  loved  less  than  feared). 

To  that  sole  arbitor,  whose  name  is  Just, 
Our  common  parent,  Time,  whose  busy  hands 

Rear  many  a  sacred  fane  above  our  faults, 
Flings  over  our  excressences  his  sands, 

And  leaves  no  human  stain  to  blot  the   sacred   marble 
of  our  vaults. 

How  grand  is  the  economy  of  time  and  death  ! 

We  whet  the  knife  for  deep  incision  on  the  name 
Of  some  misguided  leader,  but  he  fails  his  breath, 

And  all  our  better  angels  give  him  back  to  fame  ; 
Death  .carries  off  the  husk,  we  keep  the  ripened  wheat, 

And  Time  refines  the  kernel  into  choicest  flour ; 
The  atmosphere  of  anger  is  at  last  made  sweet; 

Our  charity  immortal  glows  ;  our  passion,  but  an  hour. 
God  keep  us  always  so  !     It  is  the  chosen  link 

That  binds  us  to  the  race,  and  bids  the  Christ  come  in; 
That  holds  our  hands  to  near  the  eternal  brink  ; 

It  saves  us  from  ourselves,  and  breaks  the  tooth  of  sin. 

The  whitened  garments  at  the  eternal  gate, 
Must  cover  those,  who  have  not  stained  another, 
( )r  there  will  come  that  awful  sentence  :   "  Wait  ! 


M<)\  I  I  /I    M  \.  67 

"Blood   cricth    from  the  ground  !  where   is  thy  brother ?" 

It"  thus  upon  the  living  Hod  doth  set  the  seal 

Of  condemnation  for  the  false  witnessing 

How  will  he  smite  the  lips  of  those  who  steal 

His  covering  from  the  dead,  and  fill  the  sacred  spring 

Of  memory,  with  the  debris  of  their  lives  ; 

Mixing,  what  (iod  has  kindly  torn  apart, 

And  making  null,  the  severence  he  strives. 

Between  the  naked  soul,  and  sin  encumbered  heart  ! 

The  gem  was  melted,  and  his  life  went  out 

In  unobtrusive  secrecy,  and  all 

That  he  brought  with  him,  passed  the  silent  way 

Into  eternity,  beyond  recall. 

He  chose  no  sponsor  to  renew  his  place 

But  gave  them  back  to  Nature,  as  he  found  ; 

Yet  was  his  impress  fastened  on  the  race, 

And  every  morn  they  gathered  at  the  mound, 

For  many  after  years,  till  they  had  grown 

A  nation  strong  in  numbers,  and  had  thrown 

The  seeds  of  generation  far  and  wide, 

And  found  the  latent  valleys  without  guide. 

The  lakes  are  made  a  tribute  to  their  spoil, 

And  all  the  riches  of  the  virgin  soil 

V.'ere  tested  by  those  hardy  argonauts  of  old  ; 

And  though  they  sought  no  fleece  of  shining  gold, 

They  penetrated  all  the  wildenu 

That  lay  unclaimed  before  them  to  possess. 


68  MONTEZUMA. 

God  drops  no  nobler  anchorage  on  earth, 

Than  those  who  mold  a  nation,  and  a  name  ; 

Whose  travail  in  the  wilderness  gives  birth 

To  some  great  epoch,  without  thought  of  fame. 

The  pioneers  of  empire,  for  all  time, 

Are  gold-dust,  from  the  placers  of  our  homes — 

The  surface  croppings  from  a  nation's  prime, 

The  mellow  acre  of  the  richest  loams. 

They  overgrow  the  boundaries  of  life, 

And  push  the  horizon  far  out  in  space. 

With  lethargy  they  wage  a  ceaseless  strife, 

And  with  the  whirling  earth,  they  keep  their  pace. 

All  honor  to  the  soul  who  sets  his  stake 

Where  human  kind  have  never  trenched  before  ; 

Where  only  God  his  thunders  o'er  it  shake, 

And  solitude  shall  murmur,  "  nevermore." 

Such  men  are  sovereigns,  though  they  grasp  no  crown, 

And  raise  no  jewelled  scepter  in  the  hand  ; 

Yet  are  they  Princes,  in  their  bronze  and  brown, 

And  demonstrate  their  fitness  to  command. 

The  Norsemen,  on  the  North  Atlantic  wave  ; 

Columbus,  passing  out  in  unknown  seas ; 
Oe  Soto,  gaining  but  an  unknown  grave ; 

The  hardy  Pilgrims,  on  their  bended  knees  ; 
The  Argonauts,  upon  the  Western  slope — 

These  are  the  souls  no  human  praise  can  reach. 
Each,  in  their  turn,  gave  empire  back  to  hope, 


MONTEZUMA.  69 

And  all  are  greater  than  the  gift  of  speech. 
No  pen  can  lustre  their  unfading  claim ; 

No  cenotaph  do  honor  to  their  dust — 
These  are  crown  jewels  on  the  brow  of  Fame; 

Tiu-ir  conquest  is  supreme,  their  laurels  ever  just. 

Yet,  in  the  van  of  empire,  still  is  left 

The  noiseless  print  of  ancestry  more  grand  ; 
Indentures  chiseled  in  the  highest  cleft, 

By  giants  of  a  long  forgotten  land, — 
The  nameless  graves  of  centuries  untold  ; 

The  ashes  of  the  prehistoric  age  ; 
The  self-forgetting  litany  of  gold — 

How  vast  their  monuments,  how  broad  their  page  ! 
In  what  a  grand  democracy  of  death 

They  lift  their  silent  fingers  to  our  years, 
Melt  our  memorials  with  a  single  breath 

In  mute  companionship  of  life  and  tears! 

\Ve  are  but  pygmies  to  the  almighty  past, 
The  names  we  honor  but  the  surface-mould ; 

Beneath  must  lie  an  empire  far  more  vast, 

\Vhosefundamentsalonedeservethename  of  "old." 

Not  many  years,  till  they  had  found  the  bed 

Of  copper  ore  upon  Superior's  rim; 
And  hither  many  of  the  hardy  ones  were  led 

By  Orchas,  quick  in  architrave,  and  fleet  of  limb ; 


7  O  MONTEZUMA. 

And  many  the  fantastic  implements  he  shaped 

For  husbandry  ;  no  want  of  theirs  escaped 
His  eager  scrutiny — the  axe  and  blade, 

The  rough-made  pick,  and  the  encumbered  spade, 
The  vessels  for  the  housewife,  and  the  spear, 

And  other  weaponry  for  bison  and  for  deer. 
All  these  were  fashioned  in  an  uncouth  way, 

And  yet  they  filled  the  purpose  of  the  day. 

They  had  not  reached  the  iron  age  of  thought, 
And  what  they  made,  necessity  had  taught ; 
But  riper  years  must  ope  the  "Sampson  Mine," 
And  wake  the  rugged  giant,  in  the  shine 
Of  a  meridian  sunlight  ;  they  little  thought 
Of  what  a  Hercules  remained  unsought, 
So  near  Missouri's  border ;  yet,  not  strange 
Is  their  indicted  ignorance — their  range 
Was  circumscribed  ;  and  iron  was  left  to  rest, 
Till  man  had  long  been  cradled  on  the  breast 
Of  patient  Mother  Earth — not  all  at  once 
Did  she  give  up  her  treasures  ;  and  the  dunce 
Must  grow  into  philosopher  with  years. 
Experience  with  its  battlehood  of  tears, 
Is  Nature's  great  interpreter  ;  we  learn 
But  slowly,  till  the  lessons  fervid  burn 
Their  impress  into  action  ;  then  awakes 
The  slow-taught  pupil  into  higher  life — 
Invention  is  the  furnace-spark  of  strife  ; 


M-'MI/UMA.  71 

Necessity,  the  hand  that  wields  the  sledge 
Upon  the  patient  anvil  of  our  needs, 

And  Providence  makes  good  its  wakeful  pled-c 

With  plenteous  harvest  ;  from  the  dormant  seeds 

That  lie  unconed  beneath  our  very  feet 

We  >tumhle  on  to  marvels,  and  awake 

To  find  some  giant  force,  in  what  we  meet; 

And  in  the  insects  of  our  path,  leviathans,  we  greet. 

Time's  wheels,  though  shaken,  never  fail  to  track 
The  rut  of  empire,  without  turning  back  ; 
They,  ceaseless  whirl,  with  lubricate  of  blood, 
I  )rawn  from  a  thousand  channels  on  the  way, 
I'nrusting,  through  ttie  oxydizing  flood, 
To  measure  centuries,  or  mark  a  day. 
And  thus,  the  primal  pioneers  move  on 
To  unaccustomed  progress,  on  the  banks 
Of  the  confluent  streams  that  scar  the  face 
(  )f  the  great  Western  basin  ;  and  their  ranks 
Are  filled  with  happy  husbandry  ;  the  land 
Gives  back  its  tillage,  with  a  lavish  hand. 

The  forests  and  the  streams  were  over-full 
With  fish,  and  flesh  to  feed  them,  and  they  pass 
One  conquest,  to  another,  in  the  lull 
Of  untamed  nature.      Garnered  as  a  mass 
To  fill  their  open  hands,  the  native  corn 
Soon  covered  the  rich  valleys,  and  the  plant, 
So  dalliant  to  the  race,  was  earl 


TH1 

UNIVERSITY 


7  2  MONTEZUMA. 

Tobacco.     They  were  not  adamant 

Against  the  weaknesses  so  close  allied 

To  human  nature  \  and  there  was  excess, 

And  envy,  emulence,  and  pride, 

And  all  the  ills  that  left  their  first  impress  ; 

And  yet  God  gave  them  peace.     No  brother's  hand 

Was  raised  against  a  brother,  and  the  years 

Spread  fruit  and  plenty  over  a  fair  land 

Destined  to  futurehood  of  bitter,  bitter  tears. 

DEPARTURE    OE    WABUN. 

"Most  governed  is  most  wayward."     Very  true: 

Repeating  history  doth  verify 
That  law  from  malefaction  always  grew, 

And  with  its  ceasing,  rulership  must  die, 
Except  the  common  sway  of  Deity, 

When  love  and  service  shall  together  blend, 
And  man,  from  every  earthly  master  free, 

Shall  recognize  his  Father  and  his  Friend. 

These  ancient  prairie  dwellers,  had  no  need 
Of  stringent  government ;  a  few  to  lead 
In  seeding  and  in  harvest ;  some  to  guide 
In  matters  of  religion,  and  of  form  ; 
The  rustic  swain,  and  his  compliant  bride, 
To  join  in  wedlock  ;  and  in  time  of  storm, 
To  smooth  the  little  intricates  of  life 


MONTEZUMA.  73 

With  counsel,  sage,  and  thus  avoiding  strife, 

To  guide  their  budding  nation  into  bloom. 

All  claiming  unction  from  the  prophet's  shade, 

Still  gave  their  worship  to  the  god  of  day, 

And  their  oblations  on  the  altar  laid. 

Yet,  the  responsive  accident  of  fire 

( ,'ould  never  be  recalled — they  little  knew 

The  secret  of  its  coming ;  and  they  shaped 

No  other  pebbles  like  the  one  so  true 

To  Uri's  pleadings  ;  still  they  kept  their  faith 

And  reared  their  shapely  mounds  to  meet  the  sun 

With  his  first  glance,  and  from  the  morning's  breath 

Retain  their  fervency,  till  day  was  done. 

From  out  their  number,  some  were  set  apart 

For  game  and  chase.     The  buffalo  and  deer 

And  wild  fowl,  all,  paid  tribute  to  their  skill, 

And  vale  and  forest  echoed  with  their  cheer. 

But  one  of  these,  young  Wabun,  shunned  the  group, 
And  wandered  by  the  forest  streams  alone. 
Some  called  him   "  dreamer ";  others  tried  to  win 
His  mooding  back  to  mirth ;  but  there  was  none 
That  seemed  to  reach  the  center  of  his  soul ; 
He  joined  not  in  the  worship  of  his  race, 
And  seemed  to  be  so  distant  in  his  thought, 
That  one  might  search  the  Pleiad's  in  his  face. 

There  shone  a  star  upon  the  eastern  rim — 
So  suddenly  it  shot  upon  their  view, 


74  MONTEZUMA. 

So  brilliant  and  so  placid,  never  dim 

Through  storm  and  starlight,  always  lit  anew. 
They  marveled  much,  and  some  were  sore  dismayed 

To  seek  the  portents  of  this  stranger  star ; 
But  not  so,  Wabun  ;  he,  all  unafraid, 

Hailed  it  as  answer  from  the  dim  afar, 
And  showed  unwonted  pleasure  at  its  sight ; 

His  distance  seemed  to  shorten,  and  his  mind 
Seemed  mellowed  by  a  new-born  love  to  man — 

A  quickened  tenderness  to  help  his  kind. 

"  I  wander  in  the  forest ;  by  the  stream  "; 
(They  gave  earnest  audience  as  he  spake) 
"And  underneath  the  stars — and  they  all  tell 
The  story  of  a  great,  forgotten  God. 
I  listen  to  the  murmuring  of  the  rain, 
And  to  the  mighty  thunder  of  the  clouds  ; 
And  see  the  forked  lightning,  in  its  gleam, 
Strike  the  great  oak  to  shivers,  in  its  path  ; 
I  see  the  maize  upon  a  thousand  fields  ; 
I  see  the  goodly  carpet  on  the  earth — 
And  every  grassy  thread  a  miracle — 
I  see  the  sun  upon  his  track  of  light, 
The  moon  upon  her  pathway  in  the  sky — 
And  all  do  tell  of  this  forgotten  God. 
For  God  is  of  the  living,   not  the  dead  : 
The  tree,  the  sun,  the   moon,  the  stars,  and  all, 
All  fill  their  places  ;   but  are  not  alive 


MOMl/lMA.  75 

"  As  we,  with  thought,  and  purpose,  and  design  ; 
But  each  doth  turn  upon  a  steady  crank 
Hold  by  a  mighty  and  imperious  hand. 
The  bison,  and  the  deer,  and  all  the  birds, 
Have  lite,  and  voice,  and  action,  such  as  we  ; 
And  yet  they  have  no  thought,  except  to  live. 
They  build  no  houses,  lay  no  harvests  up — 
\Ve  are  their  masters,  with  the  right  to  kill. 

••  All  things  pay  tribute  to  our  prowent  hands  ; 
All  things  we  see  are  provident  of  us  : 
The  sun  to  ripen,  and  the  moon  to  watch, 
The  birds  and  flocks  for  us  to  gather  flesh, 
The  forests  and  the  prairies  for  our  use, 
The  mines  for  metal,  and  the  streams  for  fish — 
All,  all,  pay  tribute  to  our  wasting  hands. 
Yet  we  are  not  a  law  unto  ourselves  : 
Though  masters,  yet  not  gods,  for  we  all  die 
And  fall  back  into  dust  ;  yet  are  we  great, 
And  greatest  of  earth's  creatures ;  but  for  death, 
\\  e  might  claim  highest  unction  ;  but  our  power 
Is  limited  ;  wherefore,  if  we  are  highest  type 
Of  creature  earth,  then  must  it  surely  be 
That  God  is  man,     but  of  a  higher  mold; 
Not  subject  unto  death,  but  Lord  of  life. 
And,  if  all  earthly  forces  must   ronserve 
( )ur  being  (highest  born  of  all  the  earth), 
Then  back  of  us  t  he  great  Creator  stands 


7  6  MONTEZUMA. 

"  Unseen,  as  is  Eternity  unseen, 
But  felt,   as   is  each  ripple  of  her    waves, 
Upon  the  shores  of  our  unstable  life. 
The  greater  is  not  seen.      We  do  not  see 
The  very  thought  that  holds  us  in  control. 

"Thus  have  I  doled,  and  pondered  on  it  well, 
Until,  upon  my  vision  dawned  that  star ; 
And  as  upon  some  errand  quickly  sent 
(I  know  not  how  I  went,  1  felt  so  light), 
I  sped  upon  its  rays,  o'er  vale,  and  hill, 
And  o'er  a  vaster  water  than  the  lakes — 
A  grand  expanse  of  green  and  surging  waves. 
And,  on,  still  on,  till  just  before  my  face 
A  mother,  and  an  infant  at  her  breast, 
And  many  seeming  wise  and  stately  men 
Bending  in  homage  and  with  offerings  choice, 
Of  sweetly-scented  vintage  ;  then  I  sought 
To  find  the  wherefore  of  this  sweet  emprize; 
And  I  was  told  this  was  the  Son  of  God — 
The  One  that  was  to  come,  the  mighty  One, 
Redeemer  of  the  world  ;  that  man  had  sinned 
And  he  was  come  to  set  at  one  the  race 
With  the  All-Father ;  that  we  had  been  made 
In  God's  own  image  ;  that  the  sun  and  moon 
Were  but  his  handiwork.     To  Him  alone 
(Invisible,  yet  always  looking  on) 


MONTF.zr.Mx.  77 

"  Should  homage  be  ascribed.     All  this  was  short 
Yet  was  it  printed  on  my  pliant  breast, 
And  cannot  be  erased.     I  seek  no  name 
And  claim  no  higher  homage  for  the  gleam 
Vouchsafed  my  vision  of  the  mighty    past 
And  prescience  of  the  future  ;  tis  enough 
To  know  my  steps  directed,  and  to  feel 
That  in  my  darkness  I  have  found  out  God. 
No  more  the  unknown  God,  but  evermore 
The  ripened  type  of  the  diviner  man ; 
And  as  we  reap  the  tokens  of  his  love, 
Remember  him  as  Father  Man  of  men — 
The  Infinite  Perfection  of  our  race." 

Much  more  he  said  which  made  a  deep  impress 
Upon  the  hardy  hunters,  and  the  less 
Were  those  who  gave  no  sanction  to  his  word  ; 
The  greater  portion  followed  him  in  thought, 
And  soon  in  deed.     The  votaries  of  the  sun 
Made  most  malignant  onslaught,  and  they  sought 
To  drive  the  thoughtful  Wabun  from  his  "  dream." 
The  strife  was  vain.     They  in  their  fervent  hope 
Turn  to  the  East,  into  the  wilderness — 
The  grand  Druidic  of  the  Eastern  slope, 
And,  hid  to  all  but  God,  they  penetrate 
The  deep  recessess  of  their  broad  estate. 

The  gentle  Wabun  held  for  many  years 
His  hand  upon  the  pulses  of  their  thought  ; 


7  8  MONTEZUMA. 

Sometimes  upon  their  love,  sometimes  their  fears, 

His  fervent  purity,  its  impress  wrought. 

He  led  them  to  the  thousand  untold  chaims 

That  sparkle  on  the  rugged  Eastern  slope. 

He  bared  to  them  the  great  Creator's  arms, 

And,  in  God's  grandest  alphabet,  he  read  their  highest  hope. 

Niagara  jvas  but  a  giant  scroll, 

Whereon  God  writ  a  token  of  his  strength  • 
The  muttering  voice  of  its  unceasing  roll 

Was  but  a  cadence  of  the  mighty  length 
That  measures  the  eternities  of  life. 

Its  grandeur  but  one  glitter  of  the  gold 
That  played  upon  his  vesture ;  that  the  strife 

Of  waters  was  the  stream  so  cold, 
Down  which  humanity  as  rudely  rushed  ; 

Without  a  thought  for  their  eternal  good, 
With  all  the  semblance  of  the  Father  crushed, 

They    pass   down    in  the  surge  of   death's    unceasing 
flood. 

The  broad  Atlantic  lashing  at  the  shore, 

Was  human  passion — with  the  balance  gone  ; 
Endeafening  the  graces  with  its  roar, 

And  blindly  lashing  the  Eternal  throne. 
Into  these  miniatures,  God  thrust  himself, 

That  every  wave  might  glitter  with  his  name, 
That  every  rock  might  hold  upon  its  shelf 

Some  semblance  that  their  reverence  might  claim. 


MONTEZUMA.  79 

The  kindlier  tokens  of  paternal  (are, 

On  Nature's  face,  were  beaming  everywhere. 

And  yet,  how  few  of  us,  can  truly  blend 

The  creature  with  Creator,  in  our  sight; 
And  from  the  Father,  grasp  the  hand  of  friend, 

Whose  stars  of  providence  outshine  the  night  ! 
Our  eyes  are  fettered  with  an  earthly  bound, 

Our  narrow  hori/on  will  not  enlarge  ; 
Our  ga/.e,  star  fixed,  will  drop  back  to  the  ground, 

And  will  not  with  the  infinite  surcharge. 
Only  God's  hand  can  push  the  barriers  back, 

And  give  our  vision  unimpeded  range  ; 
And  with  each  respite,  on  the  weary  track, 
Fix  the  unchangeable,  where  all  is  change. 

KKirKN     AND    STRII-'K. 

No  \wnder,  that  when  Wabun  passed  away, 

Their  torpid  natures  should  have  lost  the  charm 
That  held  so  perfect,  with  its  gentle  sway. 

Yet  slacked  so  quickly,  with  the  palsied  arm. 
Infirmities  are  easy  to  impart, 

And  through  the  generations,  they  come  down  ; 
r.ut  God  must  place  his  hand  upon  each  heart, 

And  press  each  brow  where  he  would  drop  a  crown. 

Long  brotherhood  of  forest,  storm  and  flood, 
Had  schooled  them  for  the  turbulence  of  life. 


So  MONTEZUMA. 

The  wraith  of  Nature  made  them  men  of  blood  ; 

The  war  of  elements,  the  ocean's  strife. 
The  thunder  of  Niagara  now  heard, 

The  lashing  of  Atlantic  on  the  beach, 
The  slogan  of  the  forest —  in  a  word 

The  carnival,  at  rife,  within  their  reach, 
All  served  to  spur  their  natures  into  storm. 

How  many  catch  the  key-note  of  their  song 
From  the  surrounding  elements,  and  warm 

Their  frozen  energies,  and  make  them  strong 
In  earth's  unceasing  alchemy  !     Much  more 

The  untutored  savage  ;  he  has  lost  the  key, 
And  must  from  Nature's  chalice  find  the  door, 

Through  which  to  penetrate  life's  mystery. 

And  many  generations  passed  away, 

Since  these  stern  foresters  had  dwelt  apart 
From  their  ancestral  brethren  ;  till  the  day 

When  in  their  higher  prowess,  from  the  heart 
Of  the  great  forest  fastnesses,  they  spring 

As  panthers,  on  their  unsuspecting  prey. 
They  have  grown  strong  in  weaponry,    yet  cling 

To  Deity,  in  their  untutored  way. 
The  "  happy  hunting  ground  "  to  them  is  Heaven 

And  the  "  Great  Spirit  "  still  to  them  is  God  ; 
Yet,  from  their  hearts,  all  tender  passions  driven, 

They  smite  their  brethren  with  a  heavy  rod. 


MtiNTEZUMA.  8 1 

A  long  and  ceaseless  struggle,  many  years, 

Alternately,  invasion  and  defense, 

Till  they  are  driven  southward ;  and  the  fears, 

That  Kohen's  prophecy  would  be  fullfilled 

And  hack  of  this,  the  agony  intense 

( )f  impotence  in  prayer  so  deeply  chilled 

The  hearts  of  these  poor  children  of  the  sun, 

That  they  gave  easy  conquest  to  their  foes  ; 

And  thus  the  struggle  stubbornly  begun, 

So  unresisting  now,  was  finished  without  blows. 

When  man  is  shorn  of  strength,  and  there  is  left 
Only  Ominpotence,  we  kiss  the  rod — 
The  very  rod  that  smites  us.     In  the  cleft 
We  would  attempt  to  hide  from  Deity, 
Yet  in  his  anger  is  an  answered  prayer — 
The  consciousness  of  presence;  though  we  flee, 
The  wrath  of  love,  is  proof  of  constant  care. 
But  when  we  beat  against  the  empty  air, 
And  every  echo  sends  us  back  dispair, 
And  even  superstition,  fails  to  foil 
Our  souls  with  the  deceptive    glow  of  spoil, 
Then  are  we  bittered,  and  our  path  made  black  ; 
We  grope  in  mists,  Cimmerian,  on  the  wrack 
Of  constant  and  interminable  doubt, 
A  natural  prey,  and  easy  put  to  rout. 

To  South,  and  West,  they  turn  their  fateful  way 
Beyond  the  Mississippi ;  and  their  day 


82  MONTEZUMA. 

Seemed  lighted  with  a  new  influx  of  hope. 

The  sun  embraced  them  with  a  warmer  smile; 
Th'e  mellow  fragrance  of  the  Southern  slope 

Added  entrancement  each  succeeding  mile. 
Not  all  at  once  the  exodus  took  place, 

For  they  were  many,  and  had  scattered  wide; 
Yet  to  the  southward  all  had  set  their  face 

To  seek  in  other  fields  a  place  to  hide 
From  cruel  persecutions.     When  our  kin 

Lends  its  consanguined  arder  to  the  dart, 
How  more  intent,  with  vengeful  purposes, 

How  heavier  is  the  load  upon  the  heart  ! 

They  scatter  into  fragmentary  clans, 

And  in  the  earnest  of  their  added  woe, 
(iive  birth  to  new  religious  phantasies. 

The  unclogged  streams  of  superstition  flow, 
When  down  the  mountains,  and  across  the  moors, 

The  heavy,  swollen  torrents  sweep  along, 
Throwing -their  scattered  wrecks  upon  the  shores, 

And  breaking  barriers,  however  strong. 
Baal  was  great,  when  Baalbec  reared  her  crest 

And  column  after  column  gave  her  grace 
And  all  the  East  upon  her  beauty  smiled ; 

But  when  the  "  owls  and  bats  "  usurped  her  place, 
The  god  had  fallen.     In  the  temple  dust, 
Where  man,  with  his  immortal,  had  so  strove 
To  make  the  marble  animate  (in  vain, 


MONTEZUMA.  83 

Like  other  myriad  phantoms  of  the  brain) 

Time    fashions    into    ghostly    hands,   that    sternly    point 

above. 
And  so,  God  reaps  involuntary  praise, 

From  every  fashioning  of  man's  design  ; 
His  w.ivs,  indeed,  cannot  be  called  our  ways  ; 

Yet  his  hozannas,  from  each  crumbling  shrine, 
Teach  us  the  servitude  of  all  the  past; 

That  human  hands  but  fashion  Heavenly  aids  ; 

That  every  sculptured  mythmark  only  fades 
Into  eternal  sunshine,  at  the  last. 

Some  crossed  the  mountain  ramparts  of  the  West ; 
Some  lingered  still  upon  the  Eastern  slope ; 

The  empire  yet  was  open  to  their  zest, 
And  all  were  buoyant  with  a  new-born  hope. 

But  war,  like  pestilence,  doth  warp  our  lives, 
And  like  contagion,  it  infects  the  air. 

Peace  comes  in  measure,  but  it  never  thrives 
Directly  after  conflict,  till  grows  fair 

The  flesh  so  lately  scarred.     Intestine  war 
Made  ravage  of  their  ranks  ;  they  ill  could  spare 

Their  bravest,  yet  the  first  to  fall  in  fraticidal  jar. 
The  lines,  by  conflict,  soon  were  closely  drawn, 
And  from  the  night  of  struggle  nations  dawn, 
Whose  chiefs  assume  the  King's  prerogative. 
Clans  fall,  and  clansmen  perish  ;  nations  live 
That  pass  chaotic  conflict,  and  ensphere 


4  MONTEZUMA. 

Their  crude  material,  as  a  new-born  world, 
To  individual  phalanxes,  and  rear 
Their  rude  escutcheon.     As  in  ether  whirled, 
The  new  born  planet  tracks  its  trial  course  ; 

So  must  this  human  query  find  its  way, 
And  failure  is  its  fashion;  but  still  worse 

Are  those  who  fail  to  grapple  with  the  day, 
But  look  supinely  on  while  vested  rights 

Are  trampled  under  foot,  and  raise  no  hand 
In  deprecating  gesture;  from  the  heights 

Of  grim  impartial  history  will  stand 
Unfading  letters,  written  to  the  shame 

Of  those  whose  scourges  fail  to  make  a  name. 

PREHISTORIC  RENDEZVOUS  OF  THE  AZTECS. 

On  either  side  the  crest  of  the  Madre, 

Where  mountains  kiss  their  hands  to  either  sea, 

One  slope  to  blush  upon  the  opening  day, 

The  other,  to  drop  down  its  tapestry 
And  hold  the  hand  for  promise  of  return, 
Three  nations,  as  three  stars,  to  being  burn. 
The  Toltecs,  purest  of  the  primal  race, 
The  Chichamecs,  devoted  to  the  chase, 
And  Aztecs,  strongest  in  the  arts  of  war — 
All,  seeming  thrown    beneath  one  fateful  star. 
No  painter  limnes  upon  his  labored  scroll, 

Be  it  fantastic,  feast,  or  forest  shades, 


MONTEZUMA.  85 

As  war    upon  its  victims  ;  from  the  soul 

( Plastic  as  new  damped  clay)  it  never  fades 
Till  Time  has  ironed  out  the  furrowed  past; 

And  Peace,  by  laying  fevered  brows  to  rest, 
(  hvr  the  present  has  its  mantle  cast  ; 

Then  Nature  folds  its  wardling  to  its  breast. 
So  on  these  nations  had  been  writ,  in  brief, 

The  deep-burned  liturgy  of  hardened  strife, 
And  through  the  furnace  of  their  pungent  grief, 

They  learn  to  plant  the  rootlets  of  their  life. 
One  thing  is  never  lacking,  at  the  time, 

When  in  their  nascent  passions,  nations  rise: 
The  craft  of  Priests,  in  every  age  and  clime, 

To  "  point  a  moral,'1  or  portend  the  skies. 
And  so,  from  cast-off  altars  to  the  sun, 

New  pleadings    to  new  conjured  gods  arose ; 
The  selfish  passions  since  the  world  begun, 

All  seek  supernal  outlet  on  their  foes. 

One  thing,  not  far  from  truth,  grew  into  form : 

The  thought  of  one  great,  universal  heart, 
That  beat  against  the  window  pane  of  thought, 

And  formed  of  all  existences  a  part. 
How  near  the   passions    of   mankind  will  verge, 

Sometimes,  upon    the  borderland  of  bliss  ! 
And  all  the  race  is  bettered  if  they  urge 

Continuous  march  ;  nor  turn  their  steps  amiss; 
A  little  light  would  lead  them  on  to  God, 


86  MONTEZUMA. 

And  lacking,  it  the  race    for  ages  plod. 
O  that  the  infant  eye  of  every  race 

Might  recognize  at  once  the  Master's  face! 
All  brought  their  tribue  to  Tonatiuh's  shrine, 
Still  burnishing  the  sun  with  rays  divine. 
True  worship  strengthens  in  the  wake  of  years  ; 

Its  song  grows  rhythmal  with  repeated  chant ; 
Its  beauty  lingers,  though  it  disappears  ; 

Rekindle,  and  it  melts  the  adamant. 
But  worship  on  a  purely  human  base, 

Though  it  may  work  its  legends  into  song 
And  deify  the  noblest  of  its  race, 

Can  never  be  unquestionably  strong. 
'I 'he  happenings  of  Nature  clog  its  wheels  ; 

The  elements  brush  down  its  cobweb  foils; 
And  from  its  mimicry  the  heart  appeals, 

And  heavenly  souls  are  not  for  human  toils. 
It  is  impossible  to  still  the  brain 

By  merely  human  fiat  at  it  -thrust  ; 
Man  journeys  out,  and  he  returns  again — 

The  Father's  voice  alone  can  call  him  from  the  dust. 

And  yet,  each  effort  of  the  human  soul, 

To  force  existence  for  its  latent  wings, 

Is  of  an  energy  that  leaps  control, 

Whose  germ  from  our  immortal  nature  springs. 

The  very  latch-key  of  the  eternal  realm, 

Though   touched  in  ignorance,  commands  the  door. 


MONTI  /l\I\.  87 

A  more  than  human  wisdom  guides  the  helm, 

As  we  approach  the  palm-extending  shore. 

The  hungry  arms  that  reach  out  after  God, 

Are  as  the  infants  for  the  parent's  breast  ; 

The  soul  is  weary  of  its  fruitless  plod, 

And  Nature  beckons  it  to  perfect  rest. 

\Vhat  though  the  stream  be  poisoned,  if  its   flow 

Seeks  only  the  great  ocean  to  be  lost  ; 

Not  long  upon  its  bosom  is  it  tossed, 
Ere  it  recovers  its  old  healthful  glow. 
The  old-time  sparkle  of  the  mountain  spring, 

Gleams  in  the  dew-drop  that  returns  to  earth. 

No  poison  lurks  within  the  second  birth, 
It  ever  carries  healing  on  its  wing. 
Thus,  howsoe'er  the  soul  may  find  its  way, 

Over  the  wilderness  to  Jordan's  plain, 

It  shall  not  fail  of  its  eternal  gain, 
The  night  so  trackless  shall  break  into  day. 
The  saint,  whom  angels  ushered  through  the  gate, 

With  paeans  of  rejoicing,  once  did  grope 

And  lose  his  way,  and  loose  his  hold  on  hope  — 
No  soul  that  reaches  it  is  told  to  wait. 
God  waits  upon  the  effort  to  reply, 

And  seeing  human  hands  stretch  out  for  aid, 

His  stronger  palm  is  soon  upon  them  laid — 
Our  weakness  is  the  signet  he  cannot  deny. 


88  MONTEZUMA. 

THE    TOLTECS     JOURNEY    SOUTH. 

The  Toltecs  were  the  first  to  break  the  way 

Toward  the  vertex  of  the  Summer  sun  ; 
To  catch  the  fervor  of  his  ripest  ray, 

And  talismisethe  pilgrimage  begun. 
And  after  many  days  their  fasting  eyes 

Are  feasted  with  Mexitli's*  lovely  plain — 
So  like  a  newly-fashioned  paradise, 

An  almost  Eden,  sprung  to  life  again. 
Her  placid  lakes  gave  back  her  deep  blue  sky 

In  rivalry  of  Nature — Nature's  charms 
Do  cast  reflected  multiples,  and  try 

To  fold  us  in  with  her  unnumbered  arms. 
Not  all  we  see,  but  all  we  feel,  invites, 

Together  with  our  seeing,  to  secure 
An  unrestricted  homage  ;  all  unite 

In  this  uncovered  world,  so  rich  and  pure 
And  lade  with  sunshine,  ripened  into  form, 

Concentered  rays  to  leaves  and  blossoms  grown, 
The  larch  impendent  with  its  verdant  cone, 

The  oak's  historic  battlement  of  storm, 
The  cypress  mourning  and  exultant  palms, 

'Hie  provident  maguey,  whose  offered  alms 
Found  ready  acceptation  at  their  hands, 

The  maize,  which  they  had  known  in  northern  lands, 

Mexitli,  Toltec  for  Mexico,  also  the  jjod  of  war. 


UHIVIRSITT 


Were  native  to  her  rich  and  virgin  soil 

And  gave  the  husbandman  unstinted  spoil. 

And  thus,  with  Nature  and  themselves  at  rest, 

Fresh  inspiration  from  the  God  of  peace 

l.\pands  and  energizes  every  breast, 

And  fettered  manhood  labors  for  release. 

Invention  is  emanciapation  :  Time 

Doth  loosen  Nature's  fetters  ;  man  invents 

Not  one  of  those  discoveries  sublime 

That  couples  his  poor  name  with  consequence. 
The  world  had  moved  a  million  years  or  so 

Ere  Galileo  blundered  into  prison 
For  telling  how  we  are  compelled  to  go. 

The  fog  of  superstition  had  not  risen  ; 
And  he  whose  brain  peered  up  above  the  cloud, 

To  widen  the  horizon  of  his  thought, 
Must  be  content  to  leave  the  gnarlish  crowd 

Of  puppets  and  of  priestcraft  who  have  fought 
The  van  of  progress,  immemorial  time, 

In  fear  some  newly  loosened  truth  might  break 
Some  preconcerted  dogma,  deeming  crime 

The  impulsive  movement  of  the  soul  to  slake 
The  thirst  that  God  implanted  there,  to  burn 

Its  way  into  the  hidden  and  unseen, 
And  find  new  thoroughfares  for  its  return, 

And  on  creation's  outer  verge  new  entities  to  glean. 


9°  MONTEZUMA. 

So  did  these  primal  pioneers  look  out 

Beyond  the  compass  of  their  husbandry, 
And  challenge  their  surroundings  ;  manly,  stout, 

And  earnest  did  they  seek  the  mystic  tree 
Of  knowledge  in  this  Eden  of  the  West, 

Not  interdicted  by  Divine  decree, 
But  always  open  to  the  manly  quest 

And  the  unflagging  purpose  to  be  free. 
The  zodiac  gave  up  its  lettered  scroll 

To  their  inquiries ;  and  the  measured  year 
Unsealed  the  clasp  that  held  it  from  control, 

And  truths  that  had  seemed  very  far,  revealed   them 
selves  quite  near. 

Their  rudely  fashioned  lodges  soon  gave  way 

To  buildings  of  a  more  pretentious  form  ; 
The  forests  and  the  quarries  and  the  clay 

Were  forced  to  human  vassalage.     The  charm 
That  held  the  forest  templary  from  spoil 

Was  not  entirely  broken  ;  after  years 
And  Christian  conquest  must  consume  the  toil 

And  travail  of  the  centuries.     Our  tears, 
Are  but  a  poor  atonement  for  the  brand 

Our  westward  march  has  made  on  Nature's  back. 
We  mourn  our  forest  fastnesses  too  late  ; 

With  hand  unbridled   we  have  torn  their  face, 
And  given  legal  sanction  to  their  fate — 

Hut  what  companionship  can  take  their  place  ? 


MONTEZUMA.  9 1 

Nearest  to  Nature's  very  heart  of  hearts, 

The  verdant  monarchs  beckon  us  to  God ; 
Their  benison  with  lite  alone  departs  ; 

They  testify  of  Eden  from  the  sod. 
()  man  !  that  thy  perfection  should  be  lost, 

When  so  much  pefectness  is  left  on  earth  ! 
How  much  of  bitterness  !  With  what  a  cost 

I  )idst  thou  forget  the  sacred  touch  that  hallowed  thee 
at  birth  ! 

The  worship  of  Hurakin,  "  Heart  of  Heaven," 

Spoke  of  a  healthier,  higher  growth  of  soul, 
The  consciousness  of  sins  to  be  forgiven  ; 

A  god,  whom  weakness  could  at  once  control  ; 
A  prophecy,  of  Fatherhood  to  come  ; 

A  ray  that  pencils  from  the  "  great  white  throne  ;  " 
A  voice  to  energies,  that  had  been  dumb 

For  many  centuries — prophetic  groan 
Of  man's  insatiate  thirst  for  betterment, 

Not  all  in  vain.     The  white-winged  dove  of  peace 
For  many  years  was  theirs  ;  they  came  and  went 

Beyond  their  borders,  without  let  or  lease  ; 
Found  sunnier  climes  to  South  ;  and,  as  a  charm 

Was  laid  upon  their  footsteps,  they  advance 
To  hover  closer  to  their  ancient  god. 

They  still  were  pliant  to  his  fateful  glance, 
And  scanned  his  burnished  surface  to  inquire 

His  potency  in  human  destiny. 


92  MONTEZUMA. 

They  had  forgot  the  legend  of  his  fire, 

Yet,  from    his  searching,   steadfast    eye,    not    one    of 
them  were  free. 

So  pass  they  out  from  the  historic  ken — 

Theirs,  no  aggressive  way-mark  on  the  earth. 
We  linger  on  their  passage,  and  the  pen 

Would  gladly  pour  regret  upon  the  dearth 
Of  the  indentures  they  have  left  to  mark 

Their  peaceful,  noiseless  tread  upon  the  shore  ; 
But  it  is  vain  ;  yet  out  of  all  this  dark, 

One  lesson  may  we  glean  :  That  evermore 
The  souls  that  move  with  nature  on  her  march 

Are  those  who  drop,  as  she  drops  down  her  leaves  ; 
They  fill  the  earth  with  fruitfulness,  and  arch 

The  highway  of  the  nations  with  their  sheaves  ; 
They  sleep  to  history,    but  wake  to  God  ; 

Theirs  is  the  pass-key  through  eternal  gates  ; 
They  write  no  vengeful  Sanscrit  on  the  sod  ; 

They  linger  at  no  earthly  court,   but  the  recording  ser 
aph  waits 

To  write  them  blessed   of  the  Lord,    the  jewels  of  the 
fates. 

THK  AZTECS AZTLAN. 

The  silver  current  of  the  upper  Grande, 
And  where  the  Gila  penetrates  the  East, 


MONTEZUMA.  93 

The  Zuni  lines  its  rocky  bed  with  sand, 

New  ground  from  granite  that  has  been  released 
From  mountain  base.     The  vertebrate  Madre 

Breaks  into  several  center-stays  of  spine, 
Which  form  the  watershed  that  feeds  the  sea, 

On  either  side  the  sunny  slopes  recline. 
Where  Coronado  laid  in  after  years 

The  scepter  of  his  Sovereign,  and  bespoke 
The  unbroke  silence,  as  the  cycle  nears 

The  bending  of  the  neck  to  Hispagniola's  yoke. 

Here  was  the  fabled  Aztlan  ;  and  the  race, 
Whose  ancestry  had  circled  half  the  globe, 

Have  now  their  latest  destiny  to  face. 

O !  could  they  peer  the  darkness  through,  and  probe 

The  deep  recesses  of  impending  time  ! 

Look  for  one  moment  on  what  was  to  be  ! 

How  would  they  cling  to  this  rude  mountain  clime, 

And  bar  the  door  of  their  futurity  ! 

The  Aztecs  were  a  proud  and  prowent  race  ; 
In  the  dispersal  at  the  far  Northeast, 
Now  many  years,  they  held  the  leading  place  ; 
Yet,  in  their  husbandry,  they  were  the  least. 
Their  hands  were  skilled  to  turbulence  and  strife  ; 
The  bow,  the  lance,  and  the  rude  hunter's  knife — 
Such  were  their  ready  implements  ;  but  peace 
Found  them  all  unacquainted ;  her  surcease 
Requires  a  range  of  weaponry  diverse. 


94  MONTEZUMA. 

The  hands  that  hew  down  others,  lips  that  curse, 
Both  must  be  newly  christened ;  and  the  arts 
That  unify  the  race  with  nature's  ways 
Must  hard  their  hands  and  reimburse  their  hearts. 
And  time  their  lips  with  sunnier  kinds  of  lays. 

As  if  to  fill  the  interim,  there  grew 

From  their  own  ranks,  the  fittest  kind  of  guide, 

A  pastoral  leader ;  who  by  instinct  knew 

The  flowery  paths  that  lead  on  either  side 

The  verdant  fields  of  husbandry  and  thrift ; 

The  worthy  Moctheuzoma*  had  this  gift, 

And  led  them  to  the  conquest  of  the  soil — 

That  easy  conquering  that  seeks  its  spoil 

Only  where  God  intended  it  for  man, 

The  fruits  of  his  own  labor.     Thus  began 

An  era  of  self-discipline,  that  led 

The  Aztecs  on  to  greatness ;  and  that  shed 

A  tender  halo  over  after  years, 

When  memory  will  mingle  with  our  tears. 

He  turned  their  eyes  upon  the  talcite  ledge, 
And  said  :     "  Behold,  this  is  Tonatuah's  pledge 
Of  providence  against  the  Summer's  heat 
And  the  cold  frosts  of  Winter  ;  quarry  it, 
And  fashion  it  for  framework  to  your  homes. 
For  centuries  it  has  withstood  the  storm, 


*Moctheuzoma,  the  original  Axtec  name  for  Montexuma,  commonly  spoken   of 
is  the  Elder  Montezuma,  a  pastoral  leader  still  remembered  in  their  legends. 


MuN  I  1 './.[    M  \.  95 

"To  wait  upon  your  coming  ;  let  your  feet 

I1.--  busy  with  its  treasures."     Then  he  turned 

To  where  the  clay,  tor  years,  had  been  inurned, 

And  said  :     "  Make  use  of  this  ;    'tis  Thalocs*  gift. 

The  mighty  thimderer  hath  torn  it  down, 

And  ground  it  into  ashes,  for  your  use  ; 

Mold  it  in  shapely  fragments,  and  the  sun, 

The  warm-faced  Tonatuah,  will  pour  out 

His  warmest  rays  to  hake  it  back  to  stone. 

And  more,  this  pliant  clay  has  aptitudes 

For  vessels  of  all  kinds,  and  yours  are  rude  ; 

So  in  a  hundred  ways  you  may  improve." 

Then,  pointing  to  the  forest,  thus  he  spoke  : 
"  There  Tonatu'  and  Thaloc  both  did  shake 
Their  well-filled  branches  to  the  earth  for  us, 
That  we  might  gather  fruit,  for  any  taste. 
These  noble  trees  have  swelled  the  turf  for  years, 
And  now  will  bend  the  neck  for  our  support. 
We  must  be  provident;  for  they  do  point 
Their  myriad  fingers  to  the  hands  that  gave, 
Mute  monitors,  to  beckon  us  of  Heaven. 

u  The  fish  and  fowl,  and  all  the  vast  menage 
That  track  our  mountain  slopes,  are  all  our  own. 
But  look  out  on  the  earth,  whose  grassy  turt 
Lifts  up  its  thousand  homages  to  Heaven  : 

*Thaloc,  the  A/tec  god  of  the  lightning. 


9  6  MONTEZUMA. 

"Whence  must  we  gather  fruit  of  our  own  toil. 

The  maize  will  grow  if  planted  ;  the  legume 

Will  ripen  ;  and  our  hands  will  surely  fill, 

If  we  but  ask  the  earth  and  gods  to  help 

And  second  our  endeavors.     We  must  work. 

The  river,  from  the  mountain,  rushes  on  ; 

The  mountain  shakes  its  thousand  plumes  at  her  ; 

The  stars  do  not  keep  quiet  in  the  skies  ; 

All  nature  is  alert  and  on  the  watch  ; 

And  man  must  bear  his  burden  at  the  mill." 

Thus,  did  he  lead  them  to  their  better  selves, 

And  ravel  out  the  intricates  of  life 
In  wisdom's  stern  and  simple  litany  ; 

Gave  trenchant  lessons  to  the  man  and  wife, 
And  scattered  homes  upon  new  harvest  fields. 

And  he,  who  sets  a  household  altar  up, 
And  sanctifies  it  with  the  name  of  home, 

Fresh  sprinkled  from  the  sacred  nuptial  cup, 
Is  Heaven's  Ambassador  in  human  form. 

The  hearthstone  is  the  herald  of  advance  ; 
The  hanging  of  each  homely  crane,  like  one 

Of  God's  unnumbered  irridescent  plants, 
Sheds  rainbow  hues  on  all  it  shines  upon, 

And  blessings  bend  each  limb  upon  its  tree. 
Thrice  happy  is  the  nation  thus  begun, 

For  it  has  found  the  track  of  destiny. 


MONTEZUMA  97 

The  mines  he  opened,  and  laid  bare  the  beds 

Of  precious  minerals  that  underlie 
The  bases  of  our  mountain  chains. 

"  For  all  our  wants,  we  have  a  full  supply," 
Thus  spake  the  seer.    **  We  shall  not  beat  in  vain 
Against  the  bars  that  keep  our  souls  from  flight. 
Our  birth  is  built  around  by  providence  ; 
Our  wants  are  wickets  to  unmeasured  wealth. 
If  we  but  find  the  turnstile  to  the  field, 
We  have  but  half  the  hill  of  life  to  climb  ; 
The  other  half  fades  out  as  we  advance ; 
When  we  have  toiled  out  half-way  distance  up, 
Lo!  we  have  found  the  summit,  and  descend. 

"  Thus  do  we  work  together  with  the  gods ; 

If  we  but  do  our  best,  it  is  enough ; 

When  we  put  out  our  arms,  they  reach  to  us, 

Though  they  do  span  the  universe,  to  meet 

And  draw  us  up,  the  shining  heights  of  life. 

So  in  our  daily  plodding ;  if  we  sow, 

The  gods  will  furnish  harvest ;  if  we  build, 

The  gods  have  made  the  quarry  and  the  clay  ; 

Whatever  purposes  we  have  in  life, 

If  they  be  only  for  our  betterment, 

The  crude  material  is  at  our  hands  ; 

We  only  fashion  it  to  suit  our  wants ; 

Nor  is  the  measure  stinted  to  our  needs. 

But  all  our  vessels  fill  to  overflow 


98  MONTEZUMA. 

"  Look  over  the  green  fields  !  Great  is  our  want, 

But  greater  the  supply  ;  on  every  hand 

The  wild  flowers  lift  their  heads,  and  what  are  these 

But  kisses  thrown  from  Heaven  to  win  us  back  ? 

Our  appetites  are  but  our  weaker  parts, 

And  easy  satisfied  ;  not  so  our  souls  ; 

They  have  external  longings  to  supply ; 

And  all  that  beautifies  and  brightens  earth 

Are  forecasts  of  a  kingdom  yet  to  come. 

As  on  earth's  surface  may  be  found  the  flowers, 

So,  underneath  the  shining  metals  are 

The  surplus  of  a  generous  providence. 

Our  fathers,  on  the  borders  of  the  lakes, 

Did  fashion  implements  of  husbandry 

From  inexhaustive  mines ;  but  here  we  have 

In  lesser  quantities,  much  brighter  ores, 

Fit  mostly  for  adornment  and  exchange. 

"Man  is  not  satisfied  with  'hand  to  mouth.' 

The  beasts  roam  through  the  forests  and  are  filled, 

And  therewith  are  content ;  not  so  with  man. 

Two  worlds  break  on  his  vision ;  and  the  one 

Must  interlock  the  other  in  his  life, 

Or  he  goes  blindly  out  into  the  night. 

And  it  is  well  earth  gives  no  perfect  rest. 

Or  the  hereafter  would  fall  out  of  sight. 

Man  is  the  one  ambitious  animal 

Who  seeks  for  empire,  as  the  brute  seeks  food ; 


MONTEZUMA. 

The  tame  necessities  are  not  enough, 

But  all  the  precious  under  flowers  of  earth 

Must  fill  the  measure  of  his  discontent. 

All  men  are  not  alike,  and  some  must  hold 

The  fullest  measure  of  life's  luxuries  ; 

These  pay  their  surplus  for  the  others'  toil ; 

With  them  the  shining  metals  will  be  held 

As  medium  for  barter  and  for  trade. 

And  as  Earth  decks  her  bosom  with  the  flowers, 

So  will  the  human  race  adorn  themselves 

And  blossom  out  with  variance  of  gems." 

Though,  still  encumbered  with  their  ancient  myths, 

He  pointed  out  the  harmony  of  Heaven  ; 
Gave  why  and  wherefore  to  the  dread  eclipse. 

Not  his  to  tell  them  how  the  earth  is  driven 
Upon  its  swinging  orbit  over  space ; 

And  yet  he  measured  out  the  perfect  year ; 
He  looked  stern  Nature  bravely  in  the  face, 

And  seemed  to  question  her  without  a  fear. 
Transcendent  genius ;  thus  to  grapple  Truth 

Across  the  path  still  covered  from  his  sight, 
Yet  is  she  merciful ;  her  name  is  Ruth  ; 

She  never  perches  on  so  grand  a  height, 
But  she  will  answer  to  her  children's  call, 

And  spread  her  wings  to  fly  to  their  embrace — 
This  link  was  never  broken  by  our  fall, 

And  writes  Evangel  on  our  troubled  race. 


100  MONTEZUMA. 

With  his  own  hand  he  led  them  to  the  field, 

With  his  own  hand  he  taught  them  how  to  build  ; 

He  showed  them  what  true  husbandry  would  yield, 

How  all  their  empty  measures  could  be  filled 

By  wakeful  industry.      "  Well  pointed  toil 

Is  touchstone  to  earth's  treasure-box,"  said  he. 

"Our  fathers  may  enrich  us  with  their  spoil, 

And  we  may  thus  evade  the  beaten  path ; 

Yet,  lying  dormant  on  our  fathers'  beds, 

Our  waste  brings  want  upon  our  children's  heads. 

Far  better  that  each  hand  be  labor-marked, 

That  all  may  know  the  purchase  of  their  lives  ; 

He  loses  half  the  journey  who  goes  out 

To  the  incertitudes  of  other  worlds, 

Who  has  not  tasted  what  his  hands  have  won 

On  this,  his  trial  sphere." 

Thus  in  well-chosen  words,  and  earnest  deeds, 
He  planted  fruit  that  crowded  out  the  weeds. 
Ruled  by  divinest  right  of  master-mind, 
By  wisdom  and  humility  combined, 
By  heart,  as  well  as  head  and  hand,  he  wrought  ; 
For  there  be  many  who  can  ne'er  be  taught 
By  any  else  than  throbbing  'gainst  their  own, 
Of  some  great  royal  heart ;  this  is  their  throne  ; 
And  he  who  sways  in  scepterhood  of  love, 
Gets  his  vicegerent  from  the  throne  above. 
Through  many  years  did  Moctheuzoma  reign  ; 


MONTEZUMA.  IOI 

And  Aztlan  prospered,  and  the  race  grew  strong ; 
And  when  his  body  passed  to  earth  again, 
His  spirit,  with  its  wisdom,  lingered  long. 

Thus,  with  a  twilight  halo  pass  the  great 

Across  the  threshold  with  a  noiseless  tread  ; 
\\V  linger  but  a  moment  at  the  gate 

To  pay  our  homage  to  the  honored  dead  ; 
Then  turn  to  find  them  still  inurned  with  us. 

Their  silence  is  more  eloquent  than  words, 
Their  passing  out  is  but  life's  overplus, 

Their  tongues  are  tempered  into  two-edged  swords. 
They  speak  across  the  chasm  of  their  graves, 

In  weightier  words,  in  thoughts  far  more  intense  : 
In  life  they  mingled  with  its  thousand  waves — 

It  is  God's  way  ;  death  ripens  eloquence. 

Time  trolls  along  with  its  unceasing  march, 
And  Aztlan  has  outgrown  her  former  bounds  ; 

She  holds  the  center  of  the  ancient  arch, 
On  the  historic  ladder's  highest  rounds. 

She  sways  the  queenly  scepter  of  the  past 

Above  the  way  marks  of  a  hundred  realms  ; 

Yet  leaves  but  hints  of  the  grand  overcast, 

Through  which  she  burns  her  way,  and  overwhelms 

Our  thoughts  with  all  the  possibles  of  time. 

We  can  but  poorly  comprehend,  yet  write  her  most   sub 
lime. 


PART   THIRD. 
ANAHUAC.* 

THE  AZTEC'S  JOURNEY  AND  SETTLEMENT  SOUTH. 

Another  turn  of  fortune's  fickle  wheel. 

They  journey  to  the  South,  and  cast  their  lot 
Upon  Mexitli's  lovely  plain  ;  the  heel 

Of  other  nations  has  forestalled  the  spot, 
And  they  must  win  their  way  through  turbulence 

To  reach  the  border  of  the  placid  lake, 
Where  conquest  waits  their  hardly  purchased  chance  ; 

And  all  of  Anahuac  shall  feel  the  shake 
Of  their  unconquered  tread.     Not  many  years 

Ere  nation  follows  nation  to  their  thrall ; 
And  many  are  the  hot,  convulsive  tears, 

Through  which  we  read  of  any  people's  fall. 
Our  homes  and  hearthstones  are  so  near  the  same, 
Or  column-capped,  or  made  of  homely  clay — 

Marble  and  gold  can  make  no  higher  claim 

Than  thatch  or  brushwood,  so  they  bear  the  name 
Of  household,  hallowed  for  centuries  or  held  but  for  a 

day. 
As  if  to  track  a  thousand  similes 


Anahuac,  I  he  country  dominated  by  the  Aztecs  at  the  time  of  the  conquest. 


MONTEZUMA. 


103 


Of  thorn  and  rose,  of  laughter  and  of  tears, 

War  strikes  its  hand  upon  all  sacristies ; 

(Religion  must  be  bent  to  its  decrees) 

Holding  our  destinies — our  hopes  and  fears 

A~»  all  within  its  baleful  balance  thrown. 

It  beats  upon  the  organ  of  our  lives,  and  history  repeats 

the  wild,  discordant  moan. 
So  nations,  whose  lost  anchorage  must  pay 
The  penalty  of  their  forgetfulness, 
Seek  out  phantasmal  deities  to  prey 
Upon  their  vitals  in  their  sore  distress. 

Mars,  or  Mexitli*  :  though  the  one  be  crowned 
With  all  the  glory  that  bedecks  old  Rome, 
The  idols  of  the  other,  fiercely  ground 
To  powdered  pulp  by  Spain's  invading  host. 
How  much  of  agony  they  both  have  cost 
Ask  of  the  millions  lost  to  life  and  home  ! 
Ambition  makes  a  Ccesar  :  it  is  well 

It  gives  some  recompense  for  all  its  crime ; 
For  it  has  made  the  earth  an  endless  hell, 

Crowding  its  woes  upon  the  lap  of  time 

And  yet,  religion  spurs  it  to  the  test, 

And  priests  have  been  the  primates  of  its  throne, 
Chanting  their  auguries  to  fire  its  breast, 

Braying  all  history  with  their  undertone. 

n  the  easier  of  the  names  eiven  to  tht  war 


IO4  MONTEZUMA. 

Nor  is  the  "manger,"  with  its  cradled  Christ, 

Free  from  the  misinterpreting  of  Priest. 

The  cross  where  God  and  man  have  kept  their  tryst, 
Been  changed  to  leaven  for  inglorious  feast — 

God  !  must  future  draw  its  cadence  from  the  past, 
And  plow  its  furrow  through  the  same  red  rnotild? 

Must  nations  be  in  the  same  furnace  cast, 
And  man,  the  master,  bought,  and  scourged,  and  sold  ? 
Then  is  creation  but  a  lie  accursed, 
And  better  that  the  doom  upon  it  burst . 
No.     Though  experience  may  slowly  turn, 
And  man  may  learn  as  slowy,  yet  we  learn. 
The  risen  Christ  did  break  the  grasp  of  death, 
And  empire,  dead  in  trespasses,  will  yet  receive  its  breath. 

Aztlan  must  pass  through  all  the  fated  field 

Of  mythologic  peculence  and  lore, 
And  to  their  sturdy  priestcraft  blindly  yield, 

.  To  cipher  out  the  destinies  in  store. 
They  must  propitiate  the  gods  with  blood, 

Especially  their  war-god  must  be  fed, 
And  to  supply  their  deities  with  food 

Their  fated  subjects  must  be  freely  bled. 
So  superstition  whets  the  fatal  blade, 

Which  culminates  in  human  sacrifice. 
The  maw  of  Huitzilopotchli*  must  be  stayed, 

And  altars  with  their  thousand  victims  rise. 

Huit-zilo-potch-li,  the  Aztec  war-god. 


MONTEZUMA.  105 

Sad  proof  of  imperfection  in  the  race, 

Nay,  more,  the  very  demon  in  the  breast ; 
Their  ignorance  alone  is  plea  for  grace, 

When  in  their  filthiness  they  stand  confessed. 
"Ye  must  be  born  again,"  the  Savior  said  ; 

And  history,  through  time,  has  craved  this  birth. 
Man  and  his  Maker  must  indeed  be  wed, 

If  we  would  bring  redemption  to  the  earth. 
The  empty  riddle  of  the  crucifix, 

The  shallow  rattle  of  the  Christian  creeds, 
Will  leaven  nothing  if  we  fail  to  mix 

The  ripened  grain  of  soul-inspiring  deeds. 
The  past  accuses  us  with  bony  hands  ; 

We  cannot  shun  its  cold  and  cruel  eyes; 
The  glass  is  turning  with  our  future  sands — 

We  face   eternal    destinies.     God    grant  we    be   more 


wise 


THE    EMPIRE    OF    MONTEZUMA. 


The  Star  looked  down  at  the  Mountain  ; 

And  the  Mountain  looked  down  at  the  Sea ; 
And  there  was  no  malice  in  either  one's  breast, 

Each  was  called  by  the  Deity 
To  fill  its  place  in  the  region  of  space 

Of  the  fathomless  Yet-to-be. 
The  Star  didn't  fall  on  the  Mountain, 

Nor  the  Mountain  smite  the  sea  ; 
But  each  gave  cheer  in  the  other's  ear, 


106  MONTEZUMA. 

And  they  dwelt  in  harmony. 
Why  didn't  the  Mountain  say  to  the  Star  : 

"  Begone,  with  your  impudent  stare  !" 
Or  the  Sea  to  the  Mountain  :  "  How  dare    you  intrude, 

You  presumptuous  imp  of  the  air?" 
Why  didn't  they  ?  they  were  not  human  ; 

They  couldn't  talk,  as  we  talk; 
They  were  not  born  of  a  woman; 

They  never  had  learned  to  walk. 

They  had  learned  the  language  of  patience ; 

They  had  learned  to  bear,  and  be  dumb  ; 
They  had  learned  to  hold,  through  heat  and  cold, 

Their  load,  till  the  Master  should  come. 
O  infinite  language  of  silence  ! 

O  eloquent,  voiceless  speech  ! 
Help  us  to  bear  the  ills  that  are, 

And  fetter  us  each  to  each, 
Till  all  our  envy  goes  out  with  the  Sea, 

And  our  malice  goes  out  with  the  star, 
And  we  silently  bear  what  is  to  be  — 

Like  the  Mountain — gazing  afar 
To  the  infinite  depths  of  an  endless  world, 

Where  eternity  spreads  its  zone, 
Where  planets,  countless  as  grains  of  sand, 

Gaze  out  on  the  "  great  white  throne." 


MONTEZUMA.  107 

'I 'ho  pale-faced  prophet  Quetzalcoatl* 

Had  gone  to  the  rising  sun  ; 
In  his  wizard  boat  he  was  seen  to  float, 

To  where  the  day  was  begun, 
Without  a  sail  on  the  wings  of  the  gale, 

For  the  land  of  Tlappalanf 
He  waved  back  his  followers  from  the  sea, 

Saying  he  would  certainly  come  again, 
In  the  golden  future,  yet  to  be, 

And  the  gods  should  dwell  on  the  earth  as  men. 
They  had  made  him  a  god,  because  he  was  good — 

Not  always  the  case  in  the  mystic  love — 
They  had  carved  his  image  in  stone  and  wood, 

And  his  shrines  were  built  on  the  pyramid's  floor. 
They  called  him  the  god  of  the  earth  and  air, 

And  his  legends  were  many,  and  often  told; 
And  the  priests,  with  sacrifice  and  prayer, 

Reaped  a  heavy  harvest  of  fruit  and  gold. 
And  oft  were  their  faces  turned  to  the  East, 

To  claim  his  promise,  who  ivas  to  come; 
And  they  watched  the  surge  of  the  gulf's  green  yeast, 

And  yet  the  years  had  continued  dumb. 


'Quetzalcoatl,  the  god  of  the  harvest,  probably  some  ancient  leader  deified. 
See  Prescott. 

fTlappalan,  the  Elysian  to  which  Quetzalcoatl   passed,  probably    referred    to 
the  chambers  of  the  sun. 


108  MONTEZUMA. 

Nezahualcoyotl  sleeps  with  his  fathers,* 

And  his  son  now  reigns  in  his  stead; 
His  goodness  succeeds  to  the  living, 

But  his  wisdom  goes  out  with  the  dead, 
For  both  in  the  Lord  of  Tezcuco 

Had  been  richly  and  happily  wed. 
Two  nations,  strike  hands  o'er  the  waters, 

Tezcuco  and  Aztlan  are  one, 
By  the  league  that  their  fathers  had  plighted, 

Since  they  entered  this  land  of  the  sun. 
So,  the  King  of  their  neighbor,  Tezcuco, 

Has  come  to  the  Aztec  Court, 
To  assist  them  in  crowning  the  Monarch, 

A  Prince  of  much  goodly  report. 
He  is  found  on  the  steps  of  the  temple  ; 

He  has  served,  both  as  warrior  and  Priest ; 
He  has  brought  many  victims  to  slaughter — 

The  realm  has  been  greatly  increased 
By  the  sturdy  sway  of  his  conquering  arm. 

And  now,  he  is  called  to  reign, 
The  last  of  his  race,  to  fill  the  place, 

Whose  honor  shall  prove  but  a  life-long  pain. 

Montezumaf  was  young,  but  his  sword  was  old, 
And  the  war-god  was  glutted  with  victims  and  gold. 


*Ne/-a-hual-co-yotl,  one  of  the  famous  kings  of  Tezcuco  (a  nation  allied  to  that 
of  the  Aztecs).  Prescott  enlarges  on  his  character,  truly  a  wonderful  one  for  the 
time  and  age. 

•j-Montezuma,  a  corruption  from  the  original  Aztec,  which  was    Moctheuzoma. 


MONTEZUMA.  1 09 

A  pledge  of  his  prowess  :  a  promise  to  fate, 

That  the  nation  would  prosper,  the  King  prove  great. 

Some  men  are  great  in  sorrow — there  be  tears 

That  crystalize  to  diamonds  at  the  last. 

They  need  the  weight  of  carbonizing  years  ; 

Yet,  how  they  glitter  after  these  have  past! 

Life  needs  the  tempering  at  such  a  forge, 

Or  it  would  brittle  at  the  lightest  touch  ; 

But  when  the  burden  is  but  one  vast  gorge, 

The  weary  soul  must  cry,  "  It  is  too  much." 

Nezahualpilli*  places  the  crown  on  his  head, 
And  the  victims  bleed,  and  the  altars  burn  ; 
The  words  of  admonishment  all  are  said, 
And  the  buoyant  crowd  to  their  homes  return. 
"The  King  is  dead  ! "  "  Long  live  the  King  !  " 
"  Hail  !"  and  "  farewell !  "  how  closely  tread 
The  steps  of  the  living  upon  the  dead  ! 
How  are  both  touched  with  a  single  spring  ! 
Nezahualpilli  soon  passes  away, 
And  the  rival  King,  he  so  lately  crowned, 
Divides  his  Kingdom,  and  makes  a  prey, 
A  figment,  with  empire's  empty  sound. 
And  Montezuma  outleaps  the  King  ; 
But  is  lord  of  an  empire  reaching  the  sea  ; 
And  many  nations  their  tribute  bring, 

*Nez-a-hual-pil-li,  successor  to  Neza-hual-co-yotl,  and  a  worthy  one,  though 
not  so  gifted. 


HO  MONTEZUMA. 

And  some  of  the  weak  to  the  southward  flee, 
To  pass  the  reach  of  his  powerful  arm, 
And  lift  new  prodigies  to  the  sky, 
To  meet  Earth's  sunshine,  shadow,  and  storm, 
To  finish  the  race,  to  falter  and  die. 

He  gathers  his  treasures  from  myriad  mines. 
The  cotton  and  aloe  are  wove  into  cloth. 
The  banana  and  maize  and  wild  forest  vines, 
While  they  load  to  repletion,  are  proof  against  sloth. 
His  palace  is  burnished  with  every  hue 
Of  the  rainbow  tints  of  his  fabulous  land, 
Where  Nature  entravails  on  every  hand 
To  bring  new  beauties  of  life  to  view. 
There  are  drapes  of  feather-cloth  deftly  made, 
There  were  plumes  ana  plushes  of  richest  craft, 
There  were  broidered  robes  where  the  colors  played, 
Like  the  hands  that  made  them,  dainty  and  daft. 
His  harem  equaled  his  Ottoman  peer, 

There  was  beauty  of  every  hue  and  mold — 
The  shy  and  the  gay,  the  demure  and  bold — 
That  his  provinces  furnished  from  far  and  near. 
As  fine  a  collection  of  beauty  and  grace, 
Of  the  flashing  eye  and  the  beaming  face, 
As  is  seen  on  the  gates  of  the  Euxine  sea 
At  the  present  day,  where  the  "powers  that  be," 
With  the  Union  Jack  floating  above  the  rest, 
Secures  to  that  ill-omened  bird  its  nest. 


MONTEZUMA.  1  I  1 

Their  Teocallas*  rose  on  every  hand, 

And  half  a  hundred  gods  their  worship  claim  ; 
Their  priestcraft  is  a  strong  and  haughty  band  ; 

Their  Beckets  and  their  Woolseys  are  the  same 
As  those  that  cling  upon  the  neck  of  time 

Through  all  the  feudal  ages  ;  we  may  choose 
The  leeches  of  the  Christian  Church  as  best— 

They  sucked  the  blood  the  State  could  not  refuse, 
And  so  did  these  bedizzened,  of  the  West. 

These  led  their  victims  to  the  altars  black, 
Those  wasted  theirs  by  torturing  and  pain, 

The  fatal  "  itztli,"  gave  the  parting  shock 
To  Aztec's  victims  ;  but  a  blacker  stain 

Rests  on  thy  skirts,  thou  bloody-mantled  Spain  ! 
Thou  the  avenger  of  a  human  wrong  ? 

As  well  might  Lucifer  enrobe  as  saint, 
An  earthquake  key  the  carol  of  a  song, 

Or  old  Caligulaf  bring  a  complaint ! 
"  They  slew  their  thousands  !  "  yes  ;  and  what  did'st  thou  ? 

Thy  thousands  in  the  shadow  of  the  cross  ; 
They  took  not  on  their  perjured  lips  thy  vow  ; 

Thy  gold  they  did  not  mingle  with  their  dross. 
Through  all  the  dark  of  ages  did  they  grope ; 

Through  all  the  light  of  empire  did'st  thou  graze  ; 
They  pinioned  superstition  to  their  hope  ; 

The  monody  of  hell  was  mingled  with  thy  praise. 

'Tecollas,  Temples  of  worship. 

-HJaligula,  a  Roman  Emperor  whose  name  has  become  a  synonym   <A 


1 1  2  MONTEZUMA. 

Go  back  !  and  scour  the  oxyd  from  the  gem 

Thy  lips  have  turned  to  ebony,  and  paint 
Humiliation  on  thy  doorsteps.    Stem  ! 

Stem  the  black  pool  of  Styx  !  and  find  a  saint 
Whose  blood  shall  gain  forgiveness  for  thy  past  ; 

But  count  no  beads  upon  the  path  of  time — 
Earth's  execration  is  too  justly  cast — 

Thy  very  name,  a  synonym  of  crime  ! 

They  had  their  courts  where  justice  was  dispensed 

With  what  would  shame  the  Janus-faced  machine 
We  call  our  jurisprudence.     They  commenced 

What  Christian  polity  was  left  to  glean, 
To  her  advantage  in  the  after  time. 

We  write  "  anathema"  above  the  gates 
Of  what  we  choose  to  call  "  barbaric  clime  ; " 

And  yet,  the  blinded  goddess  often  waits 
To  gather  wisdom  at  her  bare,  black  feet 

Which,  bruised  and  blistered,  tread  the  narrow    way 
To  where  the  graces  uninspired  meet 

And  superstition's  night  breaks  into  day. 

They  held  the  bond  of  family  and  home 
As  firmly  as  more  favored  nations  hold; 

Their  homes  were  castles,  where  no  man  could  come 
Without  the  potent  ses-a-me  of  gold. 

The  wealthy  pluralized  the  name  of  wife 
(As  many  Bible  patriarchs  once  did), 


MONTEZUMA.  113 

Their  virtue  was  the  average  of  life — 

There  were  excrescences  not  easy  hid. 
Yet  woman  was  more  near  her  half  of  earth 

Than  she  had  reached  in  most  of  Christendom. 
She  held  her  value  and  could  claim  her  worth; 

Not  bartered  with  the  readiness  of  some 
Self-styled  enlightened.     Much  is  to  be  learned 

In  corners  of  the  earth  that  we  call  "dark," 
Where  jewels  are  for  centuries  inurned 

That  torches  of  enlightenment  may  tarnish  with  a  spark. 

We  lay  rude  hands  on  temples  not  our  own, 

Nor  little  heed  the  human  souls  enshrined; 
The  sacred  crevice  of  each  hard-marked  stone 

But  coldly  cover  with  the  virdict,  "blind." 
God  help  us,  that  we  point  a  hand  more  pure, 

'And  raise  the  casement  with  a  grander  trust ; 
The  hands  that  lift  it  must  indeed  be  clean, 

Or  comes  the  humbling  challenge,  "Is  it  just?  " 
One  "great  white  throne  "  shall  judge  us,  one  and  all ; 

One  great  white  Hand  shall  hold  the  scales  of  fate, 
Or  clothed  in  light,  or  covered  with  a  pall, 

We  tread  the  way  through  one  eternal  gate. 
God  grant  the  temples  we  so  rudely  spoil, 

May  not  accuse  us  when  we  stand  alone  ! 
But  hearts  are  human  things,  and  they  do  coil 

The  infinite  in  blindness.     Not  a  groan 
Escapes  the  index  of  the  Father  Son. 


I  1 4  MONTEZUMA. 

A  child  in  blindness  still  is  but  a  child, 
And  held  with  greater  yearning  to  be  won. 

Our  cold,  hard  hands  cannot  be  reconciled 
To  one  warm  Heart  that  throbs  for  all  mankind, 

And  covers,  with  a  common  love,  the  race; 
And  leads,  with  greater  tenderness,  the  blind, 

That  they  more  closely  feel  His  clasp,  who  cannot  see 
His  face. 

The  arts  of  husbandry  were  well  advanced: 

They  sowed  and  reaped  unstinted  from  the  soil ; 
The  sun,  with  ripening  fervor,  on  them  glanced, 

And  gave  them  back,  a  hundred  fold,  their  toil. 
They  had  not  lost  their  ancient  faith  in  him, 

Though  other  gods  their  scattered  homage  claim 
His  breast  was  their  Elysian ;  never  dim 

The  ancient  hope  that  hung  upon  his  name. 
Their  maize  and  maguey  shone  upon  the  plain, 

Their  chocolate  gave  nourishment  and  zest, 
The  corn  gave  recompense  for  sugar-cane, 

Their  banquets  were  provided  with  the  best ; 
Fish  from  the  ocean,  fruits  from  every  clime, 

So  diverse,  yet  within  sue  h  easy  reach ; 
The  tropics  and  the  temperates  enchime 

With  all  their  plumaged  babblings  of  speech  ; 
And  they  interpreted  the  varied  whims 

That  Nature  holds  embryoed  in  her  breast. 
They  climbed  the  boughs  and  shook  her  heaviest    limbs, 


MONTKZUMA.  I  I  5 

Too  burdened  for  the  garner  to  be  missed. 
This  ancient  mother  never  yet  has  failed 

Her  children  in  their  earnest  search  for  food  ; 
She  may  be  panoplied  and  heavy  mailed, 

Yet  does  her  larder  furnish  all  when  fully   understood. 

Take  all  in  all,  and  measure  by  the  test— 

The  stern,  hard  test  of  history — and  we  find 
That  Aztlan,  very  far  from  being  best, 

Still  was  a  prodigy.     That  she  was  blind 
In  her  religious  ethics,  none  deny  ; 

That  she  had  faults,  no  champion  gainsays ; 
She  lifted  bloody  hands  against  the  sky; 

She  filled  the  avenging  measure  of  her  days. 
But  God  is  God,  and  man  is  always  man ; 

And  earthly  judgment  is  at  best  a  snare. 
And  never,  since  the  human  race  began, 

Has  turned  to  Heaven  more  piteous  despair 
Than  her  sad  eyes,  burnt  out  with  agony ; 

Moaning  above  her  nation,  and  her  name, 
The  bitter  monody  of  "  Not  to  be," 

The  deep  humiliation,  and  the  shame 
That  sent  her  crouching  at  the  foot  of  Spain  ; 

(The  fairest  daughter  of  the  wilderness) 
Without  a  hand  to  solace  in  her  pain, 

Or  ray  of  hope  to  lighten  her  distress. 

Could  she  been  gently  led,  and  tenderly, 
To  higher  life  and  holier  resolve, 


I  1  6  MONT  EZUMA. 

Had  charity  bent  forth  her  noble  sway, 

The  Christian  graces  that  with  Earth  revolve 
Without  the  wasting  friction,  paid  their  suit 

To  win  her  back  to  wakefulness  from  sin — 
How  would  she  compensate  the  victor's  hand, 

And  kiss  the  rod  that  smote  with  its  regard  ! 
But  to  be  "  drawn  and  quartered  "  like  the  brute, 

And  made  the  sport  of  passion ;  to  begin 
A  life  of  vassalage,  with  such  a  slave 

Yclept  as  master,  claiming  from  above 
The  license  that  Jehovah  never  gave 

Except  the  iron  hand  was  woven  o'er  with  love — 
It  is  too  much  !  God's  justice  is  not  lame. 

Hypocrisy  may  steal  and  wear  the  cloak, 
And  don  the  ermine,  with  its  fair,  false  claim  ; 

With  crucifix  and  litany  may  croak  ; 
But  Time  o'ertakes  it  and  it  falls  to  earth 

Like  Judas  on  its  immolating  sword, 

And  it  must  learn  to  curse  its  hour  of  birth. 
It  is  the  pledge  of  destiny — the  stern,  unwritten  word. 

THE    LANDING    OF    THE    SPANIARDS. 

The  Courier*,  new  laden  from  the  coast, 
Has  hastened  to  the  council  of  the  King 
With  most  portentious  tidings  :  picture-prints 

*  Courier,  a  courier  came  daily  from  the  coast,  and  Couriers  from  different 
parts  of  the  Empire;  their  only  script  was  the  picture  prints;  rude,  it  is  true,  and 
yet  wonderful  in  conveying  the  different  shades  of  meaning. 


MONTEZUMA.  1  »  7 

That  tell  of  boats  that  float  upon  the  wing ; 

And  pale-faced  warriors,  clad  in  shining  scales. 

The  monarch  hears  with  trembling ;  he  has  long 

Looked  for  the  coming  of  great  Quetzalcoatl, 

And,  though  he  felt  his  nation  to  be  strong, 

Yet  had  he  feared  his  reign  would  be  the  last. 

The  oracles  had  read  him  overcast, 

With  some  impending  destiny — the  ruse 

Which  priests  have  always  found  to  compass  their  abuse. 

The  chiefs  of  church  and  state  are  all  convened 

To  canvas,  and  compare  their  theories, 
And  much  of  wisdom  surely  can  be  gleaned 

From  these  firm-visaged  counsellors  of  his; 
And  Montezuma*  is  the  first  to  speak— 

His  dark,  sad  eyes  are  beautifully  bright ; 
He  was  not  philosophic  like  the  Greek, 

And  yet  his  words  made  glitter  of  the  night  : 

"We  swing  upon  the  hinges  of  our  fate, 
Most  reverend  priests  and  worthy  counsellors, 
And  it  is  well  we  counsel  and  conform 
Our  future  to  the  fashion  of  events. 
The  rising  sun  has  sent  inquiring  rays 
For  many  years,  to  greet  our  coming  god, 
And  lo  !  he  now  turns  back  from  Tlapalan  ; 

•Montezuma's  protest  against  human   sacrafice  though  not  literally  fact,  so  far 
as  the  historic  record  is  concerned,  is  ha/arded  as  not  inconsistent   with  his  I 
toric  character. 


I  I  8  MONTEZUMA. 

"  And  what  must  we,  but  welcome  his  advance  ? 

Ye  long  have  held  me  kindred  of  the  gods  ; 

Yet  I  deny  me  what  your  partial  eyes 

Have  kenned  upon  my  unassuming  face. 

I  am  as  other  men,  though  more  advanced ; 

And  if  great  Quetzalcoalt  takes  back  my  crown, 

I  bow  in  humble  vassalage  to  him. 

For  what  am  I,  to  question  his  advance  ? 

A  moth,  upon  the  torches'    fervent  ray; 

An  anthill,  at  the  foot  of  '  Catapetl. 

And  I  have  sometimes  thought  most  worthy  priests, 

That  we  have  drawn  the  lightning  from  the  cloud 

By  a  mistaken  worship  of  the  gods. 

No  one  will  question  my  religious  zeal, 

For  I  brought  many  victims  to  the  block ; 

But  human  blood  doth  have  a  subtile  voice 

That  reaches  ears  our  eyes  have  never  seen ; 

And  though  the  itztli  opens  to  the  heart, 

Some  heart  may  beat  far  out  in  open  space 

That  whispers  its  avengement  on  the  air. 

Our  gods  have  brought  us  victory,  'tis  true ; 

And  yet,  great  Nezahualcoyolt  did  spurn 

The  shedding  of  all  human  blood,  to  gods  ; 

And  when  great  Quetzalcoatl  was  on  the  earth, 

Our  gods  were  satisfied  with  other  blood. 

The  angels  of  the  mighty  past  cry  out 

Against  the  damning  practice .     Why  not  now, 


MONTEZUMA.  119 

"  For  once  and  all,  wash  off  our  bloody  hands? 
These  human  cries  pierce  farther  than  we  know  ; 
These  human  souls  may  ride  into  the  sun ; 
We  cannot  claim  his  broad,  uncumbered  breast, 
To  the  exclusion  of  the  rest  of  earth. 
The  god  of  earth  and  air  may  come  to  judge 
At  this  dark  moment  for  this  very  sin  ; 
Then  let  us  look  him  boldly  in  the  face, 
And  if  we  have  offended,  make  amends  ; 
If  our  mistaken    zeal  has  overdone, 
Surely  his  heart  will  cover  up  our  faults, 
And  we  may  thus  propitiate  his  wrath." 

Then  rose  the  ancient  High  Priest,  Tlalocan,* 
And  in  his  sternest  manner,  thus  he  spake  : 
"  Great  Montezuma  !     king,  of  earthly  kings  ! 
The  heart  of  Tlalocan  is  bruised  and  broke 
To  hear  the  words  his  monarch  has  vouchsafed 
Such  sacrilege  belongeth  not  to  kings  ; 
Great  Huitzilopotchli  must,  indeed,  be  strayed, 
Or.  he  will  shake  his  thunders  on  the  earth, 
And,  strike  the  Aztecs  from  the  face  of  him. 
War  is  the  wastage  of  all  human  flesh, 
And  whether  man  be  stricken  on  the  field, 
Or,  with  the  sacred  itztli,  offered  up, 
The  measure  must  be  met  with  human  blood . 


"Tlalocan,   Prescott  has  not  left   on  record  the  nameof  the  High  Priest,  and 
the  name  given,   I  have  thought  in  keeping  with  the  Aztic  language. 


120  MONTEZUMA. 

"  Thy  empire  has  been  purchased  at  this  price, 

And  cannot  otherwise  perpetuate. 

The  earth  and  heaven,  both  have  set  their  mark 

Upon  the  bosom  of  the  placid  lake  ; 

And  by  the  coming  of  those  fiery  stars, 

That  flashed  their  baleful  faces  in  the  sky, 

All  omenous  that  anger  brooded  o'er, 

The  gods  have  read  the  purpose  of  your  soul  ; 

And  thus  forwarn  you  that  you  must  retract. 

They  cry  for  victims  and  must  be  appeased  ; 

They  gave  you  conquest  without  stay  or  stint, 

When  you  did  furnish,  full  to  their  desire ; 

But  there  are  few  within  the  shambles  now, 

And  they  must  be  replenished,  or  the  doom, 

That  has  forshadowed  on  the  Eastern  sky, 

Will  flash  and  fall  upon  your  naked  head. 

Great  Quetzalcoatl  will  come  and  strike  you  down, 

And  grind  you  into  ashes  in  his  wrath." 

Then  spoke  the  sturdy  Counselor  Teuhtlile*  : 
"  Tlalocan  holds  the  nearest  place  to  heaven, 
And  in  his  zeal,  doth  sound  the  ready  key 
That  rhythms  with  your  empire.     We  must  suit 
Our  action  with  his  words,  or  we  are  lost. 
These  pale-faced  warriors  must  be  met  with  alms  ; 
The  gods  must  be  appeased  with  fresh  supplies. 

Teuhtlile,  the  Embassador  sent  to  meet  Cortex.     He  was  high  in  the  coun 
cils  of  the  King. 


MONTEZUM  A.  \2l 

Let  me,  myself,  go  down  upon  the  coast, 
And  with  our  ready  painters  bring  you  back 
A  full  account  of  what  we  look  upon. 
And  if,  perchance,  these  be  the  van  of  him 
Whose  coming  we  have  watched  these  many  years, 
Then  will  we  counsel  further  the  emprise, 
And  in  the  watch  and  wake  of  all  events, 
Be  not  o'ertaken,  but  forestall  the  time." 

"Your  counsel  has  the  sanction  it  desires; 
I  would  not  measure  lances  with  the  gods," 
The  monarch  answered  :     "In  the  dust  I  bend, 
And  plead  the  weakness  of  a  human  heart. 
The  South  shall  furnish  victims  for  the  block  ; 
And  Teuhtlile  shall  repair  him  to  the  coast ; 
The  dread  monition  of  the  flaming  stars 
May  be  evaded  with  our  ready  zest. 
Our  gold  and  precious  stones,  with  lavish  hand, 
Shall  be  poured  out  to  coy  them  from  our  track; 
For  what  are  all  the  earth's  indulgences, 
Against  the  smiling  favor  of  the  gods  ?" 

"  Repair  thou  to  the  coast,  my  good  Teuhtlile, 
With  plenteous  retinue,  and  goodly  stores  ; 
With  cotton  fabrics  of  the  latest  cast  ; 
With  shields  and  cuirasses  inlaid  with  gold ; 
The  burnished  mirror  of  the  fervent  sun  ; 
The  silver  shining  circlet  of  the  moon  ; 


T  2  2  MONTEZUMA. 

"With  robes  of  feather-cloth  made  rich  with  pearls  ; 
And  other  trophies  that  your  tact  shall  find. 
Receive  them  kindly,  as  becomes  their  state ; 
And  let  thy  wisdom  gather  in  the  full, 
Their  purpose  and  intent  upon  our  land  ; 
It  may  fall  out  they  are  as  other  men, 
Unsanctioned  at  the  chambers  of  the  gods, 
Yet  must  our  moderation  pave  the  way, 
Till  we  have  fully  compassed  their  intent. " 

So  said,  so  done ;  the  embassy  went  forth 

To  meet  the  wily  Spaniard  on  the  coast; 
They  little  dreamed  of  what  a  forest  fox 

They  had  to  meet ;  they  little  knew  the  boast 
That  hung  upon  the  challenge  of  their  fate. 

Their  superstitions  made  them  ready  prey; 
They  opened  wide  their  hospitable  gate, 

And  gave  the  jewel  of  their  life  away. 
It  mattered  little  how  they  forced  it  back, 

And  tried  to  parley  with  their  destiny ; 
The  hungry  lion  was  upon  their  track, 

And  they  were  lost  forever  and  for  aye. 

I  )one  in  the  name  of  Christ  ?     Oh,  spare  the  word  ! 

Let  not  the  Nazarene  be  buffeted  ; 
Gold  was  the  souvenir ;  the  pitying  Lord 

Was,  with  this  nation,  just  as  deeply  bled. 
Their  superstitions  were  the  ready  springs 


MONTEZUMA.  123 

The  Spaniards  played  upon  to  break  their  hearts ; 
Deceit,  as  damnable  as  serpents'  stings, 

Barbed  with  its  cruel  spines  their  poisoned  darts. 

The  embassy  returned,  and  others  went; 

Still  could  they  not  force  back  this  coming  cloud — 
The  steady  purpose  and  the  black  intent, 

That  wove  with  cunning  fingers  at  their  shroud. 
Had  Spain  come  as  the  Pilgrims  at  Cape  Cod. 

Or  Penn  upon  the  Delaware,  to  lead 
The  Aztec  back  to  fatherhood  and  God, 

And  let  their  sturdy  manhood  for  them  plead, 
How  ready  could  their  faces  been  upturned, 

And  hearts  been  melted  into  Christian  mold  ! — 
The  brand  of  hell  was  on  their  bare  backs  burned, 

And  they  were  ground  to  ashes  for  their  gold  ! 

Did  Christ  e'er  suffer  such  supreme  disgrace  ? 

Or  on  the  cross  ;  or  in  Gethsemane  ? 
Did  heavier  drops  of  blood  stand  on  his  face 

Than  there  were  forced  by  this  foul  treachery? 
Oh  !  how  the  patient  Nazarene  must  bend 

And  break  beneath  fresh  crosses  every  day- 
Fresh  Judases  betraying  him  as  friend, 

And  scorpions  to  sting  him  in  the  way  ! 
Thank  God  !  the  time  is  coming  when,  as  Judge, 

The  Man  of  Sorrows,  ermined  and  supreme, 
No  longer  as  a  packhorse  or  a  drudge, 

Shall  hold  the  scales  and  watch  the  balance  beam  ! 


124  MONTEZUMA. 

How  heavy  did  he  make  the  widow's  mite  ; 

How  do  the  tears  of  men  bend  down  the  scale ; 
How  ponderous  is  a  pennyweight  of  right ; 

How  do  the  little  things  of  life  prevail  ! 
The  Spanish  Conquest,  sometime,  will  be  tried 

Against  the  heart  Malinche*  threw  away, 
And  Aztec's  tears  be  placed  against  your  pride. 

O  Hispagniola  !     you  will  rue  the  day— 
A  feather  and  a  mountain  to  be  weighed — 

How  shall  the  beam  fly  up  at  your  disgrace, 
How  shall  your  curse,  a  hundred  fold,  be  paid, 

And  what  a  glory  light  up  Aztlan's  face! 

You  came,  like  tender  shepherds  to  the  fold, 

Yet,  like  a  wolf,  you  tore  the  frighted  flock ; 
You  kissed  but  to  decoy  them  from  their  gold ; 

Your  seeming  calm  was  but  the  earthquake's  shock. 
Your  empty  babble  of  the  cross  and  Christ, 

Was  but  the  mask  to  cover  your  deceit; 
Your  hearts  were  canker,  but  your  words  enticed, 

And  never  did   a  fouler  scheme  make  conquest  more 
complete. 

Not  Aztlan,  with  her  bare  and  bleeding  breast, 

Alone,  hath  felt  thy  treachery  too  late ; 
Columbus,  in  his  chains  and  sorely  pressed, 

Bends  to  thy  penalty  for  being  great. 

M.ilinche,  Interpreter  and  Mistress  of  Cortex. 


MONTEZUMA.  125 

A  thousand  white-robed  saints  with  bony  palms 

Shake  their  accusing  fingers  in  thy  face; 
Their  bodies  burned,  their  souls  changed  into  psalms, 

To  chant  in  mournful  cadence  thy  disgrace. 

ARRIVAL  OF  THE  SPANIARDS  AT  MEXICO. 

November  comes  as  Autumn's  requiem, 

To  sigh  and  sough  the  harvest,  and  the  field, 
The  winged  ecstatics  mourn,  and  then  are  dumb, 

And  life  and  growth  in  full  submission  yield. 
Mexitli  is  not  altogether  clad 

In  nature's  winding  sheet  of  yellow  leaves  ; 
And  yet  her  year  is  getting  old  and  sad, 

And  youth  and  fruitage  at  his  bedside  grieves. 
As  on  the  lingering  footsteps  of  the  year — 

A  stranger  and  the  Winter,  hand  in  hand, 
Both  on  the  threshold  as  two  ghosts  appear. 

One  strikes  the  orbit  with  its  wasting  sand, 
The  other  coils  around  the  nation's  throat ; 

The  nation  and  the  year  together  die  ; 
Both  on  the  waste  of  time  are  set  afloat, 

And  sound  alike  death's  mighty  mystery. 

In  all  the  glitter  at  his  vast  command, 
Went  Montezuma  to  receive  his  guests  ; 

If  gold  be  great,  then  was  it  truly  grand. 
The  royal  plume  upon  his  forehead  rests  ; 


126  MONTEZUMA. 

His  feet  pressed  soles  of  heavy  beaten  gold ; 
His  cloak  and  anklets  sprinkled  o'er  with  pearls, 

And  only  noble  hands  are  left  to  hold 

The  blazing  palanquin.    Like  titled  Earls, 

They  guard  the  skirts  of  royalty  from  stain 

Against  the  common  people ;  all  the  same 

As  in  our  ripened  age.     Tis  hard  to  gain 

Much  on  the    sodden  march  of  royalty, 

Where  accident  supplants  all  other  claim. 

The  monarch  in  the  easy  prime  of  life, 

But  lightly  bronzed.     The  glowing,  mellow  hue 

That  lit  his  cheek,  seemed  borrowed  from  the  sun, 

And  shadowing  a  heart  that  beat  as  true 

To  God  and  country  as  he  knew  their  names, — 

As  any  monarch  that  e'er  wore  a  crown. 

His  open-hearted  welcome,  like  himself, 

Was,  as  the  hardy  yoeman,  bare  and  brown. 

He  felt  that  he  was  meeting  destiny, 

Yet,  to  its  solving,  he  would  bend  the  knee 
With  dignity  and  grace ;  not  turn  away, 

But  face  it  with  a  ready,  cheerful  glance, 
And  meeting  night,  surcharge  it  with  the  day  ; 

And  grasping,  break,  if  possible,  the  lance 
That  he  felt  sure  was  leveled  at  his  breast. 

He  did  not  know  the  Inquisition  stood, 
With  rack  and  torture  at  his  very  gate ; 


MONTEZUMA.  127 

That  it  had  traveled  half  the  world  for  blood 
To  whet  its  throat  for  St.  Bartholomew 

And  came  with  ravening  appetite  for  him. 
Those  wary  messengers  he  little  knew, 
Or  those  brown  eyes  would  suddenly  grown  dim, 
And  the  warm  heart  would  furnaced  up  its  heat ; 

And  he  would  grappled  at  its  very  throat ; 
And  man  to  man,  and  blood  to  blood,  would  meet, 

And  not  a  plume  above  one  corselet  float 
To  bear  the  story  back  of  it  to  Spain. 

They  were  not  schooled  in  all  the  arts  of  war, 
Nor  were  they  wise  in  all  the  world's  deceit ; 

Yet  would  they  fought  beneath  their  fated  star, 
And  challenged  every  stubborn  step,  though  it  had  proven 
vain. 

But  in  this  fleecy  covering,  the  wolf 

So  hid  its  teeth  that  it  was  at  the  door 
Before  they  dreamed  of  treachery.     The  gulf 

Lay  many  leagues  behind  their  foes ;  its  shore 
And  all  the  distance  had  been  gained  by  stealth. 

Tlascala  had  been  humbled  on  the  march, 
And  promised  spoils  from  Montezuma's  wealth  ; 

But  they  had  reached  the  keystone  of  the  arch, 
At  superstition's  beck.     The  Aztec's  gods 
Had  chained  their  valor,  or  their  greater  odds 

Would  crushed  the  viper,  as  it  should  have  been, 

And  left  it  to  a  purer  age,  to  seek  a  common  kin. 


128  MONTEZUMA. 

The  Monarch  gave  them  hostelry  and  cheer, 

Food  of  the  rarest  and  the  sparkling  pulque, 
And  quarters  for  their  troopers,  all  quite  near 

To  his  own  palace  gates.     The  very  bulk 
Of  his  well-laden  markets  was  thrown  down 

To  their  repletion,  for  their  loaded  board. 
They  fared  as  princes  favored  of  the  crown, 

Of  all  the  best  the  Kingdom  could  afford. 
The  fair  Malinche  was  interpreter, 

And  Montezuma  spoke  to  them  through  her. 

He  told  them  of  the  mighty  Quetzalcoatl, 
And  how  he  recognized  them  as  his  kin  ; 
He  thought  he  had  their  history,  the  whole 
Vast  riddle  of  their  ancient  origin. 
"I  rule  a  mighty  nation,"  quoth  the  King. 
"All  Anahuac  is  subject  to  my  sway  ; 
And  yet,  I  recognize  that  you  have  come 
From  the  strong  palace  of  a  mightier  lord, 
To  whom  I  bend  as  subject  ;  and  with  you 
We  now  will  sway  the  scepter  of  his  will. 
We  long  have  watched  his  coming  from  the  East, 
And  now  that  he  has  sent  his  messengers, 
Our  hearts  are  ready  for  his  wise  commands. 
We  would  have  urged  your  coming  on  before, 
But  that  we  heard  of  tales  of  cruelty, 
Which,  haply  we  may  now  believe  as  false, 
We  welcome  you  with  all  our  open  hearts. 


MONTI  VIM  A.  \2<) 


"And  hope  you  may  enjoy  our  humble  Ian-. 
\\V  are  not  wise,  as  you  are,  for  our  lives 
Have  not  caught  wisdom  from  the  fountain  head, 
And  hung  upon  the  lips  of  Quetzalcoatl ; 
Yet  are  we  cousins  in  the  faded  past, 

And  welcome  you  as  brothers  and  as  friends." 

How  caught  the  Spanish  Chieftain  at  the  words  ! 

How  did  he  gloat  upon  this  artifice! 
How  useless  hung  their  heavy-hiked  swords 

That  they  should  win  a  nation  at  this  price  ! 
With  what  a  care  he  turned  the  dusty  past, 

To    cover  up  the  semblance  of  disguise ; 
And  fix  their  superstition  still  more  fast, 

That  he  might  clutch  and  carry  home  the  prize. 

"  There  is  grandeur  in  the  tented  field ; 

The  bivouac  and  the  smoldering  camp-fires." 
The  human  soul  unconsciously  must  yield 

To  its  supremest  charm,  where  man  aspires 
To  meet  his  fellow-man  at  one  great  bar ; 

And  "  valor  speaks  to  valor  "  of  its  claim, 
In  all  the  panoply  of  stubborn  war, 

And  drops  the  gauntlet  in  a  nation's  name. 
It  may  be  terrible,  but  it  is  grand 

To  see  the  banners  flaunting  in  the  breeze ; 
To  hear  the  bugle  blare  and  stern  command; 

And  see  opposing  forces  strive  to  seize 


130  MONTEZUMA. 

From  Nature's  stern  arbitrament  of  force 

The  laurel  that  shall  deck  the  victor's  brow; 
And  turn  the  stream  of  nations  from  its  course. 

The  cutting  of  new  sod  by  such  a  plow 
May  tear  up  all  the  tender  ties  of  life ; 

And  hearts  be  turned  to  ashes  in  its  path  ; 
These  are  the  ponderous  incidents  of  strife, 

And  made  legitimate  when  wrath  meets  wrath ; 
But  when  the  assassin  creeps  into  our  hearts, 

And  draws  around  him  all  their  sanctities, 
And  he  becomes  a  parcel  of  our  parts, 

And  all  we  have  or  claim  are  made  as  his, 
What  human  brush  can  paint  the  upraised  hand 

That  smites  our  confidence  at  such  an  hour? 
What  simile  can  human  tongue  command  ? 

It  is,  indeed,  beyond  our  mortal  power. 
We  talk  of  devil,  but  the  word  is  tame  ; 

It  cannot  reach  the  climax  we  have  sought ; 
It  only  frets  us  into  hotter  flame, 

And  beggars  all  the  litany  of  thought. 

I  do  not  claim  that  Cortez  was  not  brave  ; 

Nor  would  I  tear  one  laurel  from  his  brow. 
I  only  claim  he  stole  the  devil's  glaive ; 

He  held  it  then,  and  let  him  hold  it  now. 
The  issues  of  their  lives  are  both  with  God, 

The  brown-eyed  Monarch  and  the  dark-eyed  Knight. 
The  flowers  of  charity  should  strew  the  sod 


MONTI./ IMA. 

Above  them  both  ;  yet,  Cosmos  !  was  it  right  ? 
O  world  of  human  hearts  and  human  lives  ! 

Was  Montezuma  worthy  of  this  fate? 
O  world  of  husbands  !  world  of  tender  wives  ! 

Behold  your  Aztlan !  bleeding,  desolate, 
And  say,  if  all  their  multiple  of  sins, 

Though  they  be  blacker  than  the  blackest  night, 
Were  worthy  of  the  end  that  now  begins 

To  grind  them  down  to  powder?     Was  it  right 
For  Spain  to  steal  the  scepter  from  the  hand 

That  held  it  out  in  welcome  to  their  doors, 
And  poured  their  treasures  out  as  free  as  sand, 

And  oped  with  lavish  all  their  loaded  stores ; 
To  steal  the  key  of  superstition's  gate, 

And  break  the  lock  upon  their  hard-earned  gold, 
And,  fattening  at  their  table,  steal  their  plate, 

And  feasting  on  their  lambs  to  steal  their  fold  ; 
To  make  a  prison  of  the  room  he  gave 

In  which  to  hold  the  Monarch  as  a  slave  ? 
O  pitying  God  !  thy  thunderbolts  were  scarce. 

Why  crushed  they  not  this  hell-begotten  farce? 

And  when  the  Aztecs,  goaded  to  the  quick 
By  the  proud  insolence  of  such  a  horde, 

Could  bear  no  longer  parley,  but  were  sick 
Of  such  a  visitor  at  such  a  board, 

And  rose  en  masse  to  crush  the  viper's  fan-, 
They  bring  the  Monarch  out  to  face  the  crowd, 


132  MONTEZUMA. 

And  plead  for  their  immunity  ;  the  pang 

That  wrung  his  breast  (for  he,  indeed,  was  proud) 
Was  like  an  arrow  in  his  royal  heart  ; 

And  yet  he  prayed  for  their  forgiveness  then, 
And  like  a  martyr  bravely  bore  their  part  — 

Search  history  ;  and  find  out  greater  men, 
And  they  are  less  forgiving.    There  he  stood, 

His  nation  thronged  before  him,  in  its  wrath  ; 
Yet  did  he  plead,  before  this  multitude, 

To  spare  the  serpent,  now  across  their  path  ; 
He  could  not  name  a  promise  not  unbroke, 

He  could  not  offer  one  excuse  for  time, 
He  could  not  tell  them  why  to  hold  their  stroke, 

He  plead  for  hands  scarred  over  with  their  crime. 

Did  ever  charity  reach  loftier  height  ? 

Can  Christian  Spain  outshine  this  sad,  brown  face? 
How  many  souls  in  Christiandom,  as  white, 

Would  faced  his  countrymen,  from  such  a  place? 
Great  Montezuma  !  where  shall  we  find  room  ! 

When  Spain  has  such  a  multitude  of  saints 
To  save  your  enemies,  you  courted  doom, 

Yet  would  not  kiss  the  cross  with  your  complaints  ; 
Therefore,  anathema! — It  will  not  do, 

To  pass  a  heretic  at  Heaven's  gate ; 
You  held  no  mumbled  crusifix  to  view — 

The  Infallible  has  said  it,  you  must  wait. 
Wait  for  a  riper  age  to  touch  the  chord 


MONTEZUMA.  133 

That  quivers,  all  unconsciously,  your  praise  ; 
When  justice,  only,  draws  the  tardy  sword, 

And  Earth's  abhorrence  covers  those  old  days 
With  its  repentent  ashes,  then  my  King 

May  rest  his  memory  upon  stubborn  facts 
Nor  minstrels  falter  when  they  fain  would  sing 

Their  elegies  implanted  with  his  acts. 
The  Holy  Inquisition,  from  old  Spain, 

And  St.  Bartholomew,  from  "  Ma  belle  France," 
The  hissing  fagots  of  sweet  Mary's  reign — 

These  million  martyrs,  with  their  melting  glance, 
Look  at  his  agony,  across  the  sea, 

Who,  blind  in  superstition,  groped  his  way 
O'er  harmless  victims  and  much  misery 

To  where  the  rays  were  slanting  into  day. 
In  Europe's  face  the  star  of  Bethleham, 

With  its  benignant  splendor,  shed  its  light ; 
These  but  the  groping  nomads  of  old  Shem, 

Lost  in  the  meshes,  of  a  rayless  night. 
Those,  neath  the  palm  of  Earth's  philosophy  ; 

These  on  the  torchless  desert,  not  a  star 
To  guide  them  through  life's  potent  mystery ; 

Those  bringing  all  the  wisdom  from  afar, 
Though  Montezuma's  sins  had  cried  to  Heaven 

In  a  far  greater  stress;  yet  what  were  they, 
Paling  his  cruelties,  and  still  forgiven, 

To  pour  out  greater  vials  the  next  day  ? 
O  Spain  !  you  lent  the  sanction  of  your  name, 


134 


MONTEZUMA. 


To  cover  up  the  foulest  deed  of  time; 
Upon  your  skirt  is  fastened  this  great  shame, 

And  nation  never  wore  the  brand  of  a  more  causeless 
crime. 

DEATH    OF     MONTEZUMA. 

One  sad,  sad  task,  awaits  my  faltering  pen, 
And  I  have  done.     One  flower  upon  his  grave, 
Who  in  his  dying  could,  alas  !  not  save 
His  country  from  the  vulturous  maw  of  men. 
They  played  upon  the  monarch  with  their  arts, 

Till  he  became  a  captive  in  their  hands; 
It  was  consistent  with  their  Christian  hearts 

That  their  good  host  should  follow  their  commands. 
They  said  their  Christian  lord  across  the  sea 

Must  have  his  treasure  for  their  Christian  use. 
All  this  was  bitter,  yet,  he  did  agree, 

And  bent  a  patient  knee  to  their  abuse. 

They  struck  their  temples,  and  the  red,  right  hand 

Of  Aztlan  rose  upon  them.     They  could  bear 
To  see  their  monarch  littled,  and  their  land 

Made  tribute  to  a  stranger ;  but,  beware 
Stern  warriors  of  Castile  !  touch  not  their  gods. 

The  hearts  of  Aztlan  are  but  human  hearts, 
And  at  some  shrine  the  whole  creation  nods; 

Invade  the  sanctum,  and  the  whole  man  starts. 


MONTEZVMX.  135 

1  .as  Casas*  would  have  won  them  with  his  love — 

The  potent  key  that  opens  every  gate. 
Let  not  deceit  claim  sanction  from  above; 

It  may  assist  upon  the  wheels  of  fate, 
JUit  what  Spain  offered  through  such  legatees 

\Yas  worse  than  powder  on  the  bated  flame. 
To  gather  fruit  from  such  ill-freighted  trees, 
U'as  worse  than  stealing  nightmare  from  a  dream. 

In  Christ's  good  name  they  stole  the  monarch's  gold  ; 

They  changed  the  name  of  Christ  to  treachery  ; 
They  gathered  all  the  spoils  their  hands  could  hold, 

And  pointed  to  their  Master  on  the  tree. 
Their  Master  ?     No  !  since  Lucifer  was  hurled 

Down  from  the  shining  chambers  of  the  just 
To  vent  his  spleen  upon  a  new-made  world, 

He  never  had  a  worthier  task  in  trust, 
Than  that  he  gave  to  Spain's  inglorious  knights, 
To  rob  this  people  of  their  vested  rights. 

The  people  gather  at  the  palace  gates, 

And  vengeance  writes  itself  upon  each  face  ; 

Their  generosity  no  longer  waits, 

They  spit  upon,  and  spurn  the  outraged  place. 

It  harbors  those  who  wrote  themselves  as  knaves 
Upon  the  pliant  tablets  of  their  lives, 


I  .as  Casas,  a  worthy  Spanish  I 'ad  re,  who  \va-~  (  'instantly  i>n>t  <_•-.(  in.;  against  the 
villanous  conduct  of  the  cavaliers.      1'rescutt  pays  him  a  growing  tribute. 


136  MONTEZUMA. 

And  now    the  incensed  nation  only  craves 

Deliverance  for  their  children  and  their  wives. 

They  know  the  belching  cannon  of  the  knights 
Will  make  sad  havoc  in  their  stately  host  ; 

They  know  that  Spain  and  Fate  to-day  unite  ; 
They  know,  if  fortune  fails  them,  all  is  lost ; 

But  they  can  bear  no  longer  to  be  torn, 

And  swear  by  all  the  gods  to  pluck  this  thorn. 

The  Spaniards  see  their  perfidy,  too  late  ; 

And  call  great  Montezuma  to  the  gate. 

"Why  are  my  people  here  to-day  in  arms? 

These  stranger  friends  are  still  my  welcome  guests  ; 

They  soon  will  turn  them  backward  to  their  homes. 

Shall  we  raise  hands  against  great  Quetzalcoatl  ? 

We  fight  against  the  gods?     Lay  down  your  arms  ! 

Go  to  your  homes,  and  all  shall  yet  be  well, 

And  peace  shall  reign  in  all  Tenochtitlan  *  !  " 

They  bent  before  him  reverently  at  first. 

It  was  a  moment — then  their  anger  burst  : 

"  Base  Aztec  !  woman  !  coward  !  sneaking  slave  ! 

The  whites  have  made  a  puppet  of  your  name  ! 

Talk  not  of  fighting  'gainst  our  honored  gods  ; 

We  soil  their  sacred  robes  if  we  submit  ! " 

A  cloud  of  stones  and  arrows  flew  the  air  ; 

And  Montezuma  fell  a  victim  of  their  rage  and  his  de 
spair. 


"Te-noch-ti-tlan,  the  Aztec  for  the  city  of  Mexico. 


MONTEZUMA.  137 

His  heart  had  broke  when  he  beheld  the  throng, 
For  he  was  burning  with  his  country's  wrong; 
And  when  the  missiles  smote  his  fevered  crest, 
His  very  soul  was  reaching  out  for  rest. 
They  only  helped  to  roll  the  burden  off, 

So  long  imprinted  on  his  saddened  face — 
It  was  too  much  to  hear  his  people  scoff — 

He  fell  ;  and  they  removed  him  from  the  place. 
He  never  rose  again,  nor  wished  to  rise  ; 

He  made  no  effort  to  outlive  his  land  ; 
He  felt  his  weakness,  and  he  heard  her  cries ; 

He  saw  her  sinking  with  his  wasting  sand. 
He  knew  his  enemies  had  stole  the  garb 

Of  gods  to  fasten  on  him  their  deceit ; 
That  they  had  stung  the  nation  with  their  barb, 

And  he  would  not  survive  its  sore  defeat. 
He  felt  their  scoffings  were  deserved  of  him, 

For  he  should  gathered  wisdom  with  his  years  ; 
He  saw  his  weakness  when  his  sight  was  dim, 

And  poured  his  wasting  moments  out  in  tears. 

They  called  the  Priest  to  shrive  him  for  his  death— 
The  worthy  Monk  Olmedo*  takes  his  palms  ; 

It  is  in  vain  ;  his  very  latest  breath 
Repulses  all  their  uninvited  alms. 

He  dies  an  Aztec — honor  to  his  name  ! — 

"Olmedo,  a  priest  of  that  easy  piety  that  characterized    the  cavalier,  ready   to 
grant  absolution  in  case  of  all  excesses. 


138  MONTEZUMA. 

And  spurns  the  symbols  that  have  crushed  him   down. 
What  mockery  when  he  is  all  aflame 

With  their  abuses  !  Give  him  back  his  crown, 
His  country's  honor,  and  its  hard-earned  gold. 

But  force  no  wormwood  to  his  fevered  lips ; 
His  hand  is  pulseless,  and  will  soon  be  cold ; 

His  life  was  shadow;  and  his  death — eclipse. 

Great  are  the  consolations  of  the  cross — 

The  Father-Son  of  Calvary,  and  time. 
Their  glory  compensates  a  kingdom's  loss  ; 

But  piety  must  not  be  wed  to  crime. 
Did  all  the  roses  blossom  from  the  cross, 

And  all  the  thorns  grow  out  upon  the  waste  ? 
Then  were  the  metal  guarded  from  the  dross, 

And  every  crust  be  suited  to  our  taste  ; 
But  bitter-sweet  is  all  the  book  of  life, 

And  thorns  and  roses  crowd  the  tangled  way  ; 
And  good  and  evil,  always,  are  at  strife — 

Night  always  dogs  the  footsteps  of  the  day. 
Yet  "figs  cannot  be  gathered  from  the  thorn," 

Nor  "grapes  from  thistles,"  says  the  patient  Lord — 
One  great,  good  life,  like  a  new  angel  born, 

Is  the  most  potent  sermon  ever  heard. 

The  hands  that  smote  the  Monarch  in  the  face 

Did  honor  to  his  ashes,  cold  and  dead. 
Their  anger  was  rubbed  out,  and  not  a  trace 


MON  I  1  /I'M  \  139 

\Vas  left,  as  with  their  slow  and  measured  tread 
They  bore  his  sacred  ashes  to  the  tomb 

Within  the  walls  of  old  Chapultepec, 
Where  stately  trees,  and  flowers   perennial  bloom, 

And,  all  the  pulses  of  their  lives  in  check, 
Bow  down  to  kiss  the  shrine  of  memory. 

The  sacred  hush  of  death  comes  none  too  oft 
To  still  the  fevered  brain  and  make  us  free — 

It  is  a  gentle  hand,  and  moves  so  soft 
That  it  compensates  all  our  misery 

By  chaining  all  the  lions  of  our  life 
And  placing  durance  on  the  throbbing  drum 

That  marshals  us  to  earth's  unpitying  strife. 

How  should  we  reverence  the  hand  that  strikes  our  pas 
sions  dumb  ! 

Cortez  and  Montezuma;  Aztlan,  Spain — 

The  very  mingling  of  these  words   is  pain. 
The  one,  bold,  cold,  unscrupulous  and  brave, 

And  making  of  each  obstacle  a  slave  ; 
Seeking  his  glory  in  the  name  of  Christ, 

To  gain  his  ends  unfaithful  to  each  tryst. — 
The  fault  is  with  the  ethics  of  his  race, 

Which  justify  the  means  for  any  end, 
And  leave  the  moral  aspect  without  place, 

And  to  the  foulest  acts  their  ready  sanction  lend. 
The  thought  of  holding  man  to  his  account, 

And  throwing  merit  against  circumstance, 


1 40  MONTEZUMA. 

Of  cleansing  souls  at  one  great  common  fount, 

Of  holding  out  to  man  an  equal  chance — 
These  things  were  not  considered  in  the  least. 

The  glory  of  himself  and  Spain  were  first  ; 
All  the  excesses  pardoned  by  the  Priest 

Weaned  the  poor  soul  from  any  moral  thirst. 
A  golden  apple  trembled  on  the  limb, 

And  he  must  pluck  it,  at  whatever  cost. 
What  matter  whose? — it  should  belong  to  him  ; 

It  was  too  tempting,  and  must  not  be  lost  : 
The  wall  that  lay  before  it  must  be  scaled, 

The  owner  of  the  field  must  be  destroyed, 
And  if  his  proivess,  in  the  effort  failed, 

Deceit  and  treachery  must  be  employed. 
The  unbridled  passions  of  the  human  soul 

Linked  with  the  crucifix  in  his  emprise. 
The  lion,  loosened  and  in  full  control — 

The  semblance  of  the  Lamb  to  Aztlan's  eyes  : 
A  faithful  offspring  of  the  Papish  loins, 

The  features  of  the  Church  in  duplicate, 
Though  baser  metals  pass  for  golden  coins, 

Only  earth's  charity  can  make  brave  Cortez  great. 

But  Montezuma  conquers  all  our  thought — 

Tenochtitlan  and  old  Chapultepec. 
No  greener  shrine  for  memory  can  be  sought ; 

The  heart  and  conscience  both  alike  bedeck 
The  unfading  spectre  of  a  soul  sincere, 


uIONTKZUMA.  I  4  l 

Who  tugged  at  destiny  against  the  dark — 
The  hand,  unconscious,  drops  its  laurels  here. 

His  brown  hands  could  not  helm  the  fateful  hark 
Against  the  baleful  breakers  of  old  Spain  ; 

Yet,  who  is  proof  against  the  foils  of  men. 
His  life  is  but  a  psalmody  of  pain. 

What  soul  unmoved  can  touch  it  with  the  pen  ? 
The  link  that  bound  the  old  world  with  the  new, 

With  pure  and  patient  hands,  might  been  upturned, 
And  every  missing  chapter  brought  to  veiw 

By  Clio  gathered,  and  again  inurned 
In  history's  cloister ;  Egypt  and  Aztlan 

Strike  palms  upon  the  bridges  of  the  years ; 
But  Spain  denies  the  privilege  to  man, 

And  fills  the  vacuum  with  a  nation's  tears. 
O  Monarch  of  the  fading,  mighty  past ! 

Great  Montezuma !  we  are  wed  to  thee. 
Back  of  thy  name  the  ocean  is  so  vast 
That  we  can  only  write — Eternity, 
And  leave  the  secret  in  thy  broken  breast. 

We  would  that  we  could  taken  thy  warm  palm, 
Held  out  in  welcome  from  the  mellow  West, 

And  poured  upon  thy  stricken  life  the  balm 
Of  real  enlightenment ;  and  point  thee  back, 

Over  the  ridges  of  the  years,  to  God ; 
To  where  your  people  lost  the  beaten  track, 

And  ever  afterward  were  left  to  plod. 
Those  great  sad  eyes,  once  filled  with  light  from  Heaven, 


142  MONTEZUMA. 

Would  shone  like  diamonds  when  they  found  the  way, 
And  every  fibre  of  thy  nature  striven 

To  turn  thy  nation's  darkness  into  day. 
Alas !  'tis  vain  !  we  beat  the  empty  air. 

Our  tears  are  mingled  with  thy  wasting  breath ; 
We  all  are  torn  with  thy  warm  heart's  despair, 

And  mourn  with  Aztlan  at  thy  fateful  death. 

CONCLUSION. 

From  sire  to  son  the  stern  bequeathment  falls 

Of  some  misguided  action  in  the  past, 
And,  though  our  nature  with  the  victim  calls 

And  we  are  smitten  with  his  overcast, 
Still  are  we  weak  against  the  wheels  of  fate, 
Which  leaves  the  pensioner  thus  desolate. 

The  by-ways  of  the  father  must  turn  back 
Sometime  upon  the  highway  that  he  left ; 

Though  dark  and  sinuous  may  be  the  track, 
And  life  of  all  its  luster  be  bereft, 

Still  hangs  the  heavy  impulse  on  the  soul, 

Unsatisfied,  till  it  shall  reach  its  goal. 

The  destiny  was  hard  that  brought  proud  Spain 

Upon  the  fading  summerland  of  gold  ; 
Its  retribution  is  no  less  a  pain; 

The  grip  of  fate,  so  pulseless  and  so  cold, 
Brings  back  the  shudder  to  the  human  heart ; 


MONTEZUMA.  143 

Humanity  is  wounded  with  cadi  part 
That  feels  the  puncture  of  her  cruel  blade. 

Nor  is  the  censure  less  upon  the  hand 
That  strikes  so  hard  to  force  the  debt  thus  paid. 

The  tender  conquest  of  some  heathen  land 
The  brightest  jewel  is,  of  any  crown- 
God  never  licensed   human  hand  to    strike    a    foe   when 
down. 

When  Spain's  recruited  army  turned  them  back 

To  glut  their  ire  on  Guatamozin's  head, 
There  never  was  a  deeper  furrowed  track, 

More  thickly  cindered  with  the  myriad  dead  ; 
And  when  at  last  his  bloody  sceptre  fell, 
Tenochtitlan  was  likest  to  a  hell. 

The  brave  barbarian  was  put  to  rack 

To  force  divulgence  of  his  scattered  gold.- 

Is  there  a  garment  of  a  deeper  black, 
To  cover  up  the  fingers  that  could  hold 

Such  hellish  orgies  after  all  the  past  ? 

The  palm  is  thine,  O  Spain  !  and  hold  it  to  the  last ! 

Yet  one  more  turn  upon  the  screw  of  time  : 

Thy  red,  right  hand  must  slay  this  waif  of  fate  ; 
And  thou  must  put  the  climax  to  the  crime, 

And  crush  the  heart  thou  has  made  desolate. 
Enough  !  thou  art  the  acme  of  the  earth- 
May  God's  great  pity  ever  spare  thy  duplicated  birth  ! 


T44  MONTEZUMA. 

No,  no,   not  Spain  !  her  better  angel  waits, 
And  has  been  waiting  all  these  weary  years 

For  Castellar  to  open  wide  her  gates, 

That  she  may  wash  her  garments  with    her  tears  ; 

But  priestcraft,  Rome,  or  demon,  all  the  same— 
That  makes  a  desert  of  her  rich  champaign  ; 

And  sends  her  forth  through  history,  so  tame. 

It  is,  her  evil  genius  ;  but  it  is  not  Spain. 


As  Kohen  prophesied,  their  race  was  run — 
Their  error  cleaved  upon  them  as  a  curse  ; 

The  fading  phalanx  of  the  Summer  sun 
Has  crossed  the  borders  of  the  universe. 

We  only  catch  the  shadow  of  their  flight ; 

They  pass  out  with  the  sunset  into  night. 


MALINCHE. 


INTRODUCTION. 


I  may  properly  place  "  Malinche  "  as  supplementary  to 
"Montezuma,"  as  dealing  with  characters  coincident  to, 
and  cotemporaneous  with  those  concerned  in  the  "  Con 
quest,"  and  also  as  covering  a  period  subsequent  to,  and 
immediately  succeeding  the  Conquest. 

To  the  student  of  history,  Malinche  (in  her  position  of 
interpreter  during  the  entire  period  of  the  Conquest)  pre 
sents  at  once  so  much  that  is  unique  and  charming,  and 
yet  such  a  sad  commentary  on  the  criminal  practices  of 
the  sixteenth  as  well  as  the  nineteenth  centuries,  that  I 
have  often  wondered  that  a  stronger  and  more  practiced 
hand  has  not  ere  this  claimed  the  privilege  of  champion 
ship. 

According  to  Prescott,  she  was  born  in  the  town 
of  Painnalla,  Province  of  Coatzacualco,  in  the  southeast 
ern  extremity  of  what  is  now  Mexico ;  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  a  Cacique  (a  sort  of  provincial  Governor) 
and  prospective  heiress  to  large  estates;  that  after  the 
death  of  her  father,  her  mother,  with  indecent  haste, 
forms  another  union,  and  in  time  presents  the  stepfather 
with  a  son  ;  that  they  jointly  combine  to  be  rid  of  Ma- 


148  MALINCHE. 

lincbe,  whom  they  sell  to  itinerant  traders ;  and,  to  cover 
their  device,  they  pretend  that  she  is  sick  and  use  the 
child  of  a  servant  for  their  criminal  pantomime  ;  the 
child  dies,  thus  completing  the  deception,  except  the 
hypocritical  mourning  to  which  this  unnatural  mother  is 
said  to  have  been  equal. 

Malinche  is  sold  by  the  traders  to  the  Cacique  of  Ta- 
basco,and  reaches  maturity  about  the  time  of  the  Conquest. 
She  seems  to  have  been  a  favorite  in  the  house  of  the 
Cacique,  which  would  indicate  that  he  had  become  ac 
quainted  with  her  origin,  and  after  the  surrender  of  the 
town  to  Cortez,  she  is  one  of  the  twenty  female  slaves 
presented  to  the  Conqueror  and  his  allies. 

Either  from  enlarged  opportunities  or  her  natural  apt 
ness,  and  probably  both,  she  is  found  by  Cortez  to  be 
just  the  person  he  needs  for  interpreter.  Mutual  attraction 
leads  them  into  the  closest  relations,  and  it  is  but  just  to 
Malinche  to  state  that  there  is  no  indication  of  her 
knowledge  of  the  Conqueror's  wife  in  Cuba,  until  she  ar 
rives  at  the  Capitol.  There  is  also  nothing  to  indicate  more 
than  a  momentary  estrangement  between  Malinche  and 
Catalina. 

Catalina  lived  but  about  three  months  after  her  arrival 
at  Mexico  ;  and  it  seems  that  Malinche  assumes  the  same 
relations  as  before,  when  Cortez  journeys  South,  where  in 
time  they  reach  the  precincts  of  the  maiden's  nativity,  and 
she  meets  her  mother,  after  all  the  years  of  their  cruel 
separation.  Here  the  beautiful  sincerity  of  the  Christian- 


MALI  NC  UK.  149 

ity  she  had  espoused,  shines  forth  as  she  quiets  her 
mother's  fears,  and  professes  to  doubt  her  mother's  origi 
nal  intent  to  sell  her.  She  loads  her  mother  with  jewels 
and  seems  to  cherish  no  feeling  not  consistent  with  the 
warmest  relations  of  daughter  and  mother. 

The  statement  soon  after  is,  that  Cortez  presents  her  to 
Don  Xamarillo  with  all  the  sanction  of  marriage,  and  he 
enriches  her  with  some  of  the  largest  estates  in  her  native 
province;  and  there  the  historic  account  closes.  Inci 
dentally,  it  is  mentioned  that  a  son  was  born  during  the 
period  of  this  affaire  du  coeur. 

I  stated  that  the  historic  account  closes  here,  but  M. 
Charny  and  others  enlarge  on  the  traditionary  feeling  of 
South  Eastern  Mexico,  and  if  we  may  credit  his  state 
ments  (and  many  times  tradition  carries  more  heart  and 
more  of  the  essential  elements  of  truth  in  it  than  the  cold 
pencil  of  history),  Malinche  is  so  woven  into  the  social 
structure  as  to  become  almost  the  patron  saint  of  that 
part  of  the  country. 

And  Prescott  (rather  inclined  to  the  fruit  than  the 
blossom  of  history)  speaks  of  Malinche  as  being  reverent 
ly  held  by  the  Aztec  descendants  as  the  guardian  angel  of 
Chapultepec. 

I  have  endeavored  thus  to  present  the  salient  features 
of  this  part  of  the  historic  drama,  adding  and  enlarging 
only  as  it  became  necessary  to  connect  the  events  and  do 
justice  to  the  fair  subject  of  the  endeavor  ;  and  whatever 
criticism  may  be  offered,  I  can,  without  hesitancy,  claim 


150  MAL1NCHE. 

the  credit  of  candor  and  a  desire  to  eliminate  from  all  the 
facts  of  the  case  the  plain,  unvarnished   truth. 

I  began  at  first  to  write  the  idyl  in  nine-syllabic  meas 
ure,  but  soon  found  myself  cramped  in  expression,  and 
in  recopying  I  have  thrown  off  restraint  and  used  the 
double  terminal  with  both  nine  and  ten  syllables,  having 
no  desire  and  finding  no  occasion  to  use  the  eight  sylla 
ble  measure  which  Longfellow  has  so  immortalized  in 
the  "  Song  of  Hiawatha." 

The  sacred  relations  of  man  and  wife,  like  those  of 
any  other  sacrament  entered  into  voluntarily,  are  no  less 
binding  in  the  spirit  than  in  the  letter  of  the  law ;  and 
it  is  a  gratifying  truth  that 'the  statutes  of  many  of  the 
States  of  the  Union  are  being  so  remodeled  as  to  rec 
ognize  the  fact t  rather  than  the  form  of  marriage;  and 
the  tendency  is.  certainly  toward  the  correction  of  many 
abuses,  as  leading  to  a  more  enlarged  knowledge  of 
social  responsibilities. 

As  long  as  the  sad  story  of  Malinche  has  a  present 
application,  and  may  be  said  to  be  the  perspective  of  the 
grossly  distorted  foreground  of  our  social  structure,  so 
long  will  its  rehearsal  have  its  use  in  the  world ;  and  I 
only  regret  that  a  stronger  hand  and  a  more  perfect 
pen  might  not  have  been  loaned  to  its  portrayal. 

H.  H.  RICHMOND. 


MALINCHE. 


Old  Painnalla  of  Coat-za-cual-co, 

Passing  down  the  road  of  the  "Conquest," 

Through  the  silent  portals  of  Lethe, 

\\~as  greatest  of  Mexican  hamlets  ; 

The  birthplace  of  brown-eyed  Malinche, 

Whom  the  Spaniards  call   Dona  Marina; 

And  the  noble  Cacique,  great  Tezpitla, 

With  his  shrew  of  a  wife,  Zunaga — 

All  are  names  deserving  of  story, 

For  they  cling  to  the  garment  of  greatness. 

A  daughter  is  born  to  Zunaga, 
And  the  worthy  Cacique  Tezpitla, 
Though  he  warms  to  the  little  stranger, 
Had  hoped  that  the  gods  would  have  given 
A  son  and  Cacique  for  the  province. 
They  named  their  young  daughter  Malinche ; 
The  priest  called  the  gods  to  protect  her, 
And  sprinkled  her  brow  and  her  bosom 
With  water,  the  purest  of  emblems  ; 
Commends  her  .to  Tez-cat-li-po-ca, 


152  MALINCHE. 

The  soul  of  the  earth  and  the  heavens  ; 
To  Quet-zal-coatl,  god  of  the  harvest ; 
And  at  all  the  shrines  with  their  homage, 
They  offered  the  richest  of  jewels. 

Tezpitla  soon  sleeps  with  his  fathers, 

And  Malinche,  too  young  to  have  known  him, 

Has  hardly  begun  with  her  prattle, 

Ere  he  passes  away  to  the  sunset, 

To  the  palace  of  gold  Tonatu', 

Where  his  warriors  had  gone  on  before  him 

To  their  rest,  in  the  dazzling  chambers 

That  shine  from  the  face  of  the  day  god. 

Zunaga  a  little  while  murmurs, 

And  mourns  at  the  chieftain's  departure, 

When  Mohotzin,  a  friend  of  Tezpitla 

(Who  had  shared  oft  times  in  his  battles 

And  sat  many  times  at  his  table), 

In  sympathy  visits  the  widow  ; 

And  his  sympathy  turns  to  wooing, 

His  wooing  and  winning  are  easy. 

For  Zunaga  (the  name  of  the  faithless) 

Yields  a  ready  ear  to  his  sighing, 

And  pity  is  parent  of  loving. 

The  bride  takes  the  place  of  the  widow, 

And  the  funeral  leads  to  the  wedding. 


MAI.INCMI-.. 

A  son  is  soon  horn  to  Mohotzin, 

And  the  sire  with  the  faithless  Zunagu, 

Bend  their  heads  to  the  hurt  of  the  helpless, 

To  disherit  the  artless  daughter ; 

She  sends  up  inquisitive  glances, 

To  the  guilty  eyes  of  her  parents. 

Thus  the  perfect  faith  of  our  childhood, 

Stands  to  smite  at  the  evil  endeavor, 

Yet  how  is  it  cruelly  wounded 

By  the  cunning  hand  of  its  kindred! 

She  is  sold  as  a  slave  to  the  merchants, 
Whose  itinerant  traffic  encounters 
This  cruel  and  conscienceless  couple. 
Scarcely  five  years  the  miniature  maiden, 
When  decoyed  from  her  favorite  pastimes, 
Under  guise  of  a  frolicsome  journey; 
She  is  hurried  away  into  bondage, 
To  gain  the  estate  for  her  brother. 
And  all  this  is  done  under  shadow 
To  cover  the  basest  of  actions. 
Malinche  is  said  to  be  dying, 
The  mother  is  bent  at  the  bedside, 
Where  is  laid  the  child  of  a  servant ; 
It  dies,  to  complete  the  deception, 
And  Zunaga  bewails,  as  is  fitting 
In  well  painted  actions,  the  daughter. 
The  funeral  pageant  is  greater 


154  MALINCHE. 

Than  the  one  attending  Tezpitla  ; 
And  thus,  did  the  misnomered  mother 
Strive  to  hide  the  print  of  her  sinning. 

How  fares  it  with  bonnie  Malinche, 
Thus  stung  in  the  morn  of  her  childhood  ? 
The  merchants  have  gone  to  Tabasco, 
The  slaves  are  the  bearers  of  burden, 
The  maid  is  thus  borne  from  her  kindred. 
She,  too  young  to  plead  for  ransom, 
I  Jttle  heeds  the  force  of  her  venture  ; 
And  in  time,  they  have  traversed  the  river, 
And  have  reached  the  town  of  Tabasco. 
The  merchants  immured  in  their  traffic, 
Sell  the  maid  to  a  wealthy  landlord, 
The  worthy  Cacique  of  the  province. 

Thus  cruelly  shorn  of  her  birthright, 
Malinche  grows  up  as  a  servant 
In  the  house  of  this  wealthy  master, 
The  playmate  and  charm  of  his  children. 
She  gathers  the  boon  of  contentment 
With  the  easy  faith  of  her  childhood. 
Her  mother  is  almost  forgotten, 
When  a  former  nurse  of  Zunaga, 
Having  served  the  time  of  her  ransom, 
Has  sought  the  Cacique  for  employment. 
She  knows  the  whole  piteous  story, 


MALINCHE.  155 

Of  the  maid  and  her  heartless  mother  ; 
Her  soul  is  drawn  back  to  the  maiden, 
And  she  knows,  with  the  whole  of  her  nature, 
That  this  is  her  old  master's  daughter. 
And  Malinche,  across  the  threshold, 
Calls  back  all  the  thoughts  of  her  childhood, 
And  each  feels  the  grasp  of  the  other, 
And  the  past  is  all  plain  to  Malinche. 

The  noble  Cacique  of  Tabasco 
Heard  all  of  the  pitiful  story, 
And  swore,  by  the  gods,  to  avenge  her 
"  Of  her  cruel  and  faithless  mother, 
With  her  heart  as  hard  as  the  itztli, 
The  sanctified  blade  of  the  prophet." 
He  would  seek  the  king,  Moctheuzoma, 
That  ruled  in  the  city  of  temples, 
Tenochtitlan,  greatest  of  cities, 
And  tell  him  the  tale  of  Malinche, 
That  all  of  her  wrongs  might  be  righted 
And  the  maiden  restored  to  her  birthright. 

Hut,  in  the  white  heat  of  his  anger, 
A  stranger  appears  at  the  river — 
'Tis  the  pale-faced  chief,  and  his  army, 
With  his  soldiers  clad  like  the  fishes, 
With  the  shining  scales  for  their  frontlets, 
With  their  weapons  charged  with  the  lightning, 


156  MALINCHE. 

Like  the  thunderbolts  of  great  Thaloc, 

With  their  four-legged  gods,  like  the  bison, 

With  the  head  of  a  man  in  the  center, 

And  the  flaming  nostril  distended, 

Breathing  fire,  like  the  front  of  a  dragon, 

When  they  shake  the  earth  with  their  tramping. 

Surely  these  were  the  legates  of  heaven, 

Great  Quetzalcoatl,  surely  fought  with  them. 

And  in  vain  was  the  chieftain's  endeavor, 

Tabasco  soon  fell  to  their  prowess, 

And  they  must  now  purchase  appeasment. 

And  the  worthy  Cacique  of  Tabasco 

Forgets  all  his  pledges  of  ransom, 

And  Malinche  is  one  of  the  twenty, 

Of  the  maids  that  he  gives  to  Cortez. 

As  pure  as  the  bright  water  lily 

That  shines  from  the  rim  of  Tezcuco  ; 

As  bright  as  the  rays  of  Tonatu', 

Rising  out  of  the  gulf  of  Mexitli; 

As  chaste  as  the  moon  in  its  glances, 

At  the  mirroring  face  of  Chalco; 

As  fresh  as  the  breezes  that  banquet 

The  morn  in  the  isles  of  the  spices — 

Even  such  was  the  Maid  of  Painnalla, 

The  beautiful  brown-eyed  Malinche. 

Cortez  has  been  seeking  a  sponsor 
To  ravel  the  intricate  language, 


MALINCHI.  157 


When  he  is  informed  of  the  maiden, 
And  she  is  first  brought  to  his  presence. 
A  favorite  child  of  the  household, 
She  is  lobed  in  the  neatest  of  vestures. 
The  feather-cloth  covers  her  shoulders, 
Her  waist  is  enclosed  with  a  girdle 
Holding  skirt  of  the  finest  of  cotton, 
Her  feet  on  the  daintiest  sandals, 
Her  face,  veiled  with  gossamer  pita, 
Lends  the  highest  charm  to  her  blushes. 


With  Aguilar  first  she  converses 
r(He  had  lived  some  years  with  the  natives, 
Borne  ashore  where  his  vessel  had  stranded). 
She  had  learned  all  the  various  shadings, 
The  many  and  quaint  dialections, 
Of  the  several  Anahuac  nations  ; 
And  not  long  till  the  noble  Castilian 
Yields  its  palm  to  her  ready  conquest. 
The  mighty  commander,  brave  Cortez, 
With  his  piercing  dark  eyes,  was  her  teacher  ; 
For  love  is  the  aptest  of  pupils, 
And  the  heart  is  your  ready  translator. 
The  words  of  the  Chief  were  no  longer 
The  meaningless  voice  of  the  stranger, 
But  the  language  of  Spain  and  of  heaven. 


158  MALINCHE. 

Cortez,  cast  a  thought  to  the  island ; 
To  his  early  love,  Catalina  ; 
To  the  prison  of  fierce  Velasquez ; 
His  reluctant  marriage  in  Cuba. 
Yet,  how  faithful  had  been  the  Dona  ! 
And  never  yet  had  been  broken 
His  pledges  of  perfect  devotion  ; 
But  the  morals  of  Hispagniola 
Are  subject  to  easiest  bending. 
The  priest  giving  ready  indulgence 
To  sins  that  are  nearest  to  nature, 
And  Malinche,  robbed  of  her  birthright 
And  denied  the  boon  of  a  mother, 
Had  only  her  love  to  direct  her, 
Which  led  her  unerring  to  Cortez  ; 
He  opened  his  arms  to  receive  her, 
(She,  the  purest  jewel  of  Aztlan) 
And,  as  moth  falls  into  the  torchlight, 
She  fell  to  his  brilliant  alluring. 

If  purest  of  wifely  devotion, 

With  its  love  that  is  all  of  woman, 

If  the  absence  of  wrong  intention 

In  the  innocent  glow  of  nature, 

Uninspired  by  the  shadow  of  evil, 

Made  her  wife,  she  was  wife  of  Cortez. 

Not  a  whisper  of  Catalina, 

His  beautiful  wife  on  the  island, 


MALINCHE.  159 

Had  the  chieftain  given  the  maiden  ; 
And  she  felt  as  free  as  the  water 
On  the  rugged  brink  of  'Morenci; 
As  the  bee  to  gather  the  honey 
From  the  nectaries  on  the  mountains 
And  the  multiple  bloom  of  the  valleys. 
She  thought  there  was  naught  to  prevent  her 
From  her  lavish  of  love  on  the  Chieftain. 

O  the  faith  that  is  always  faultless, 

That  ever  grows  up  toward  Heaven, 

(To  the  center  of  love  returning) 

Whence  it  sprang  as  seed  from  the  Godhead  ! 

How  its  track  is  hounded  by  evil ! 

How  its  purity  pants  in  the  darkness  ! 

How  it  flutters  into  the  pitfalls  ! 

And  how  its  white  wings  are  broken 

And  its  plumage  stained  and  bedraggled! 

But  'tis  only  the  earth  that  despoils  it, 

To  teach  it  more  earnest  endeavor, 

To  lift  the  wing  higher  in  ether, 

And  fix  the  eye  firmer  on  Heaven. 

But  alas  !  for  bonnie  Malinche  ; 
Her  faith  had  no  heavenly  fragrance, 
Except  in  its  helpless  dependence. 
It  knew  not  the  way  of  the  angels, 
But  groped  like  the  vine  in  the  cavern, 


l6o  MALINCHK. 

Always  reaching  out  for  the  sunlight, 

Always  tender  and  white  of  fiber. 

And  the  worthy  father,   Olmedo, 

Taught  the  maid  the  lore  of  the  ages  ; 

Taught  of  life,  and  death,  and  the  Savior, 

And  the  beautiful  boon,  resurrection, 

And  the  story  of  Magdalene, 

Of  much  loving,  and  much  forgiving ; 

Yet  he  whispered  naught  of  the  Chieftain, 

And  the  maiden  lived  on  in  blindness, 

Though  "Credos"  and  "Ave  Marias" 

Fell  as  pearls  from  the  lips  thus  laden 

With  the  story  of  Jesu'  and  Mary. 

And  as  Christ  touched  the  lips  of  childhood 

And  made  them  the  text  of  his  sermon, 

(The  innocent  sponsors  of  Heaven) 

Malinche,  enrapt  at  the  story, 

Shined  out  through  her  every  action, 

Translating  the  life  of  the  God-Son, 

To  speak  in  behalf  of  her  people. 

She  plead  for  the  chiefs  of  Tlascala — 

Las  Casas  had  no  abler  ally 

When  he  struck  the  stone  heart  of  Cortez— 

And  the  stonier  heart  of  Castile, 

In  his  earnest  prayer  for  the  Aztecs 

And  the  ill-starred  King  Moctheuzoma. 

Her  blood  gave  its  ardent  petition 

In  behalf  of  her  race  and  her  people, 


MM  INCHI  .  ,(>, 

Her  bron/ed  hand  pressing  the  balance 
( )n  the  side  of  mercy  and  manhood. 

When  the  light  first  shines  in  the  cavern 
Damp  and  dark  with  moldering  ages, 
It  gathers  each  gleam  of  the  crystals 
That  cycles  have  hoarded  in  brilliance  ; 
So  the  heart,  groping  back  to  the  sunlight, 
Over  graves  of  its  superstition^, 
Throws  its  shoots  through  every  crevice 
That  promises  health  to  its  fibers. 
Thus  the  virgin  soul  of  Malinche 
(The  image  of  God  on  its  tablet) 
Made  the  glow  of  her  first  impressions 
The  heart  and  the  soul  of  the  gospel. 

But  how  cunningly  clasp  the  fetters 
That  fate  has  unconsciously  molded  ; 
And  yet,  how  they  pinion  our  passport 
( )n  the  trend  of  further  indulgence — 
The  conquest  was  hardly  completed, 
And  the  maid  in  the  fullest  enjoyment 
Of  the  treasure  she  aided  to  purchase 
When  the  island  divulges  its  secret, 
And  the  wife  of  his  early  loving, 
And  the  wife  of  his  after  loathing, 
Appears  at  the  door  of  the  Chieftain. 


1 62  MALTNCHE. 

O  Malinche  !  brown-eyed  Malinche  ! 

The  finger  of  fate  is  upon  you  ; 

The  wrongs  of  your  conscienceless  mother 

Were  the  scar  and  bane  of  your  childhood. 

The  years  with  their  velveted  footfalls 

Have  forced  them  far  back  in  the  shadows, — 

But  here  comes  a  heart  that  is  bleeding 

For  the  touch  of  its  earliest  treasure. 

With  an  even  right  you  have  won  it ; 

Upon  your  warm  bosom  have  worn  it. 

But  another,  unknown,  has  possessed  it, 

And  puts  forth  her  hand  to  recover. 

Will  you  strike  at  her  just  petition  ? 

Love  is  love  ;  but  hers  is  the  older, 

And  it  has  grown  sharp  with  its  longing  ; 

The  hunger  of  years  is  upon  it, 

And  pleads  all  the  patience  of  loving. 

They  met,  the  brown  maid  of  Painnalla 

And  the  pale,  blushing  rose  of  the  island, — 

Malinche  and  sad  Catalina. 

The  Dona  gave  voice  to  her  murmur 

In  words  that  were  pungent  and  bitter, 

Reproaching  the  maid  for  the  beauty 

That  had  stolen  the  heart  of  her  husband. 

But  Malinche  returned  no  reproaches 

When  she  heard  the  whole  truth  from  the  Dona  ; 

]3ut  her  tears,  as  the  dew  of  the 


MALINCHE.  16:- 

Which  like  diamonds  filled  her  dark  lashes, 
Smote  the  tender  heart  of  the  maiden  : 

'  O  maiden,  most  hard  and  unconscious  ! " 
( 'ried  Malinche,  out  of  her  sobbing, 
;  Hear  the  bitter  tale  of  my  lifetime  ; 
And  the  Heavenly  melting  of  pity 
Will  fill  all  the  place  of  your  loathing." 
Then  she  told  her  the  whole  sad  story- 
How  her  cruel  mother  betrayed  her, 
How  she  fell  a  slave  to  the  Chieftain, 
And  was  called  upon  to  interpret. 
But  the  heart  is  easily  broken, 
Fair  maiden  !  "  Malinche  continued. 
And  before  I  knew,  I  had  fallen  ; 
And  I  hung  on  his  matchless  features, 
The  wonderful  glow  of  his  prowess, 
And  the  liquid  flow  of  his  language, 
Till  I  could  no  longer  resist  him. 
I  thought  I  was  free  to  embrace  him, 
And  I  gave  my  whole  life  to  his  keeping. 
How  I  thrilled  to  his  first  caressing, 
And  panted  to  gather  his  kisses  ! 
How  I  hung  on  the  lips  of  the  morning 
That  shadowed  his  life  with  new  danger  ! 
Could  I  die  for  the  love  I  bore  him, 
I  would  pity  the  weight  of  the  casket 
That  gave  such  a  featherlike  measuie; 


164  MALTNCHE. 

Could  I  stand  in  the  breach  of  danger 
To  shelter  his  form  from  the  missile, 
I  could  mourn  that  the  Father  had  given 
But  only  one  heart  for  the  arrow. 
I  loved  him  !  I  loved  him  !  I  loved  him  ! 
And  this  is  my  furtherest  pleading." 

And  long  ere  Malinche  had  finished 
The  Dona  had  mingled  her  weeping, 
And  each  held  the  hand  of  the  other 
In  truce  of  their  worthless  repining  ; 
And  Malinche,  as  Magdalene, 
Would  have  washed  the  feet  of  her  Master, 
But  the  Dona  rather  preferred  her 
As  compainon  and  friend  in  pastime  ; 
So  they  passed  their  time  in  the  solace 
Of  a  friendship  closely  cemented. 

But  the  beautiful  flower  of  the  island 
Fell  a  prey  to  the  varying  climate 
And  the  dormant  love  of  the  Chieftain. 
She  pointed  her  white  hands  to  heaven, 
And  she  gave  back  to  Mary  Mother 
Her  tired  soul  as  white  as  the  snowdrift. 
The  busy  brown  hands  of  Malinche 
Had  never  once  tired  of  their  office 
In  smoothing  her  feverish  pillows. 
Her  fresh,  perfect  faith  pointing  upward, 


\IAI.1NCHK.  165 

Helped  to  pinion  the  soul  for  its  passage. 
"  Farewell  to  thee,  fair  Catalina  ! 
Though  you  tore  my  heart  with  your  coming, 
You  have  torn  it  worse  with  your  going. 
May  the  angels,  shrouding  your  sorrow, 
Pour  their  multiple  bliss  in  your  welcome, 
And  paradise  pant  with  your  beauty, 
And  Heaven,  as  white  as  your  goodness, 
Shine  out  through  the  doors  for  Malinche  ; 
For  I  envy  your  early  passage, 
And  would  gladly  have  gone  before  you. 
I  have  found  earth's  love  but  a  fetter 
To  cripple  the  wing  of  our  exit." 

And  after  he  humbled  the  Aztecs, 

The  Chieftain  soon  turned  to  the  southward, 

Still  holding  the  hand  of  Malinche, 

As  if  the  cold  palm  of  the  Dona 

Had  never  intruded  its  presence ; 

His  memory,  cold  as  her  pulses, 

Gave  hardly  a  throb  at  departure, 

But  Malinche  wept  o'er  her  ashes, 

And  prayed  that  the  blessing  of  Heaven 

Might  comfort  the  soul  of  the  Dona  ; 

Yet  she  held  not  her  hand  from  the  Chieftain, 

Though  she  chid  with  the  love  of  the  turtle ; 

Yet  her  heart  could  not  harrow  its  fallow 

Though  a  hundred-fold  lay  in  the  effort. 


1 66  MALINCHE. 

The  ill-fated  Chief  Guatamozin 

(Who  succeeded  the  great  Moctheuzoma, 

And  so  stubbornly  fought  for  his  people) 

Had  fared  the  same  fate  of  the  Monarch, 

Except  that  he  gazed  on  the  ashes, 

And  saw  the  cold  ghost  of  his  nation 

Pass  out  through  the  gates  of  the  sunset, 

And  all  just  a  little  before  him. 

He  attended  Cortez  on  his  journey, 

With  other  great  men  of  his  people ; 

Never  man  was  more  loyal  to  master 

Than  the  throneless  King  to  his  Chieftain — 

To  the  cavalcade  came  a  rumor, 

That  the  life  of  Cortez  was  endangered 

By  a  plot  of  the  Aztec  attendants 

(Cortez  was  the  stoniest  master. 

To  the  Knights  as  well  as  the  natives, 

And  no  wonder  his  life  should  be  threatened. 

The  scar  of  a  crime  on  our  nature, 

With  remembrance  of  wrong  we  inflicted, 

Puts  a  double  watch  on  our  victim  ; 

We  are  prone  to  measure  in  manner, 

Each  soul  in  the  pitiful  bushel 

That  holds  the  shrunk  grains  of  our  manhood.) 

And  Cortez  turned  his  eyes  for  an  answer, 

To  the  plot  that  was  laid  for  his  footsteps, 

On  the  staunch  Aztec  King,  Guatamozin ; 

He  had  fought  a  brave  battle  for  Aztlan, 


MAI1M1IK.  I0y 

And  the  Spaniards  had  felt  his  prowess 

In  the  hardly  wrenched  sword  of  their  triumph; 

But  when  the  despair  of  his  nation 

Settled  down  on  his  heart  as  a  mountain, 

No  treachery  lingered  to  poison 

The  flow  of  his  deeply  drawn  sadness. 

Yet,  the  wrongs  he  had  laid  on  the  people, 
Stalked  out  as  a  ghost  on  the  Chieftain. 
And  the  sad  eyes  of  poor  Guatamozin, 
Were  his  guilty  conscience'  accuser; 
And  though  not  a  stain  was  upon  him, 
Yet  the  Chief  was  condemned  by  Cortez. 
Then  Malinche's  warm  heart  overflowing, 
When  she  saw  how  unjust  was  the  sentence, 
Gave  its  plea  with  the  beautiful  pathos 
Of  the  life  that  is  simple  and  loving. 
Though  she  was  baptized  as  a  Christian, 
And  was  charmed  with  the  life  of  the  God-Son, 
Yet  the  water  the  priest  sprinkled  on  her 
Purged  not  from  her  veins  the  warm  Aztec 
Which,  charged  with  a  just  indignation, 
Poured  out  on  her  Chieftain  its  measure  : 

"As  a  faithful  God  is  my  witness  — 
Not  a  throb  of  my  heart  has  wasted 
Its  pulse  on  the  suit  of  another, 
Since  you  glittered  my  life  with  its  purchase. 


l68  MAUNCHK. 

I  have  loved  you  too  well  for  my  worship, 
Which  has  hardly  a  God,  but  my  Chieftain ; 
But  I  plead  for  my  country  and  people— 
You  showed  me  a  Christ  that  was  loving, 
Whose  life  was  a  psalm  of  forgiveness, 
Who  touched  the  hot  lips  of  our  anger 
With  the  tender  finger  of  patience. 
I  was  won  by  his  great  example, 
It  warned  the  cold  stone  of  the  Aztec 
With  the  radient  beams  of  the  morning  ; 
It  loosened  the  chains  from  the  ankles 
That  were  swift  on  errands  of  mercy  ; 
It  tore  off  the  scales  from  the  eyelids 
That  were  blinded  with  superstition  ; 
Gave  freedom  to  innocent  victims, 
From  the  fearful  death  of  the  itztli  ; 
And  winged  back  the  soul  to  its  manor, 
From  the  desert  and  dust  of  the  ages. 

"  But  where  is  the  Christ  you  were  pleading— 
The  merciful  God  of  your  banner  ? 
The  nails  of  the  cross  are  your  sword  points, 
And  his  pleadings  the  parent  of  carnage. 
His  merciful  words  are  but  margods, 
To  hurl  on  your  host  to  the  slaughter. 
As  I  pleaded  for  Moctheuzoma 
That  you  spare  him  the  shame  of  his  prison. 
So  I  plead  for  the  brave  Guatamozin, 


MAI  I  \(  III.  169 

Though  he  fought  so  hard  for  the  Aztecs, 

I  would  balance  my  life  on  his  honor. 

The  traitor  is  not  of  such  metal, 

At  your  front — in  your  face — he  may  strike  you  ; 

But  he  takes  not  the  night  for  his  helmlet. 

Nor  is  treachery  ever  his  weapon. 

Then  spare  him,  my  noble  Hernando  ! " 

But  her  prayers  were  in  vain  for  the  victim, 

The  heart  of  Cortez  was  relentless  ; 

And  another  brave  soul  winged  its  passage, 

To  try  if  the  gates  of  the  city 

Still  turn  for  the  broken  in  spirit. 

In  time  they  drew  near  to  Painnalla, 

And  the  tale  of  her  childhood  confronts  her, 

Though  she  hardly  can  call  up  one  feature 

To  gaze  on  the  face  of  another, 

And  each  say  to  each,  "We  are  brothers  "; 

Yet  the  story  has  lived  with  her  living, 

And  been  fanned  by  the  fervor  of  gossip; 

And  Malinche's  warm  heart  has  been  shaken, 

O'er  the  bitterest  brink  of  a  trial. 

Her  Chieftain,  grown  great  with  his  conquest, 
Thrusts  the  knife  of  his  pride  to  her  heartstrings, 
In  search  of  some  noble  alliance  ; 
And  she  must  be  weaned  from  his  wooing. 
As  only  one  Ciod  lighteth   Heaven, 


1 70  MALINCHE. 

She  has  held  the  one  place  in  his  household, 
Than  which  has  the  earth  none  more  sacred. 
Yet  the  shade  of  the  poor  Catalina 
Has  shown  her  how  weak  is  the  Chieftain, 
And  the  bolt  is  thus  broken  in  falling  ; 
Still  her  whole  heart  presses  the  balance, 
And  a  sacred  thing  was  her  loving, 
For  love  is  the  latch-key  to  Heaven. 

But  she  tries  to  force  back  her  sorrow 
At  the  sacred  shrine  of  her  birthplace  ; 
And  the  angels  are  gentle  that  hover 
At  the  rustic  shade  of  the  hearthstone. 
All  the  sorrow  comes  out  of  the  shadow. 
All  the  bitterness  bathes  in  the  sunshine, 
The  stubbornest  pangs  of  resentment 
Are  cooled  to  the  calm  of  forgiveness  ; 
And  charity  cradles  the  armor 
That  was  harnessed  in  bristling  anger. 

Her  mother  is  summoned  with  others 
At  the  call  of  Cortez  to  assemble, 
And  Malinche  sees  mother  and  brother 
Through  the  soul  of  an  earnest  hunger. 
She  (young  in  all  things  but  her  sorrow, 
And  with  only  her  nature  to  prompt  her) 
Beholds,  with  the  heart  of  a  daughter, 
The  mother  that  cruellv  spurned  her, 


M. \UNCHK.  171 

Iii  the  fading  Spring  of  her  lifetime. 
The  mother,  as  ready  responding 
To  the  tie  that  her  crime  would  have  broken, 
Sees  her  child,  like  the  face  of  a  spectre, 
Rising  out  of  the  grave  to  accuse  her, 
And  in  terror  would  fly  from  her  presence  ; 
But  Malinche  sprang  forward  to  grasp  her, 
And,  forgetting  all  else  but  her  mother, 
Poured  out  her  full  heart  in  caresses, 

Saying,  "Surely,  my  mother,  you  knew  not 
When  you  sold  me  away  to  the  traders  ; 
Surely,  not  with  your  voice  could  you  sanction, 
Your  words  would  have  frozen  together, 
And  not  with  your  heart  you  consented. 
The  blood  would  have  whited  to  marble  ; 
Some  artifice  surely  was  practiced. 
My  mother  was  tiJini //.x  my  mother  ; 
And  though  you  unwittingly  sold  me, 
Malinche  is  free  to  forgive  you. 
Take  back  to  your  bosom  your  daughter, 
It  is  all  for  the  best  that  we  parted, 
For  it  gave  me  my  sweet  Mary  Mother 
With  her  child,  the  immaculate  God-Son; 
And  better  a  slave  and  a  Christian, 
Than  a  priest  in  the  pay  of  the  temple. 
And,  yet,  how  I  longed  for  a  mother, 
To  show  the  clear  trail  for  my  footsteps, 


172  MALINCHE. 

And  to  hold  the  white  hand  of  my  childhood  ! 

With  no  other  mother  but  Mary 

(Sweet  Mary,  the  soul  of  compassion), 

I  have  tried  to  grow  up  towards  Heaven  ; 

But  a  mother  on  earth  is  the  blessing 

That  can  never  be  held  by  another. 

Our  flesh  will  not  float  on  the  pinions 

That  bear  to  Elysian  our  spirits  ; 

Our  hearts  are  too  warm  for  the  angels, 

To  hush  with  their  transparent  fingers; 

Our  lips  are  too  ready  for  kisses 

To  be  cooled  to  the  calm  of  devotion ; 

Our  hands  are  too  warm  in  anothers 

To  be  folded  in  supplication  ; 

Too  much  of  the  earth  is  about  us 

To  be  lost  in  the  halo  of   Heaven — 

So  we  need  the  cool  heart  of  the  mother 

That  has  passed  the  hot  chaos  of  passion, 

To  temper  the  pulse  that  is  wayward. 

"  Yet  I  cannot  have  wandered  so  greatly, 
When  love  was  the  only  impulsion, 
Such  a  distance  away  from  the  Master 
Whose  name  is  the  essence  of  loving  ; 
But  he  sees  the  bare  heart  in  its  throbbing, 
And  the  crystallized  faith  of  my  footsteps 
That  were  only  too  quick  in  their  choosing. 
Surely,  Love,  the  benificent  Master, 


MM   INC   UK.  _  173 

Springing  forth  from  the  bosom  of  Mary, 
To  smother  the  earth  with  caresses, 
Will  drop  a  light  hand  on  the  shoulder 
That  shadows  a  heart  that  has  wandered 
By  only  its  warm  overflowing." 

She  loaded  her  mother  with  jewels, 
And  left  not  the  shadow  of  malice 
To  stain  the  fair  skirts  of  her  mercy, 
But  canceled  her  wrongs  with  caresses, 
And  covered  the  past  with  forgiveness. 
Thus  she  bore  the  whole  soul  of  the  Gospel 
To  the  hungry  hearts  of  her  people; 
And  the  heart  is  not  hard  to  the  sermon 
That  carries  a  life  for  its  background 
As  perfectly  pure  as  the  precept. 
The  heathen  is  waiting  the  harvest — 
Only  hallowed  hands  for  the  sickle ; 
When  the  life  and  the  lip  move  together 
Millennium  waits  on  the  morning. 

The  trial  that  sometimes  had  shadowed 
Comes  at  last  in  its  fullness  upon  her, 
And  the  pride  of  Cortez  seeks  another 
For  the  place  that  is  only  Malinche's. 
And  he  offers  to  Don  Xamarillo 
The  tremulous  hand  of  the  maiden, 
As  if  it  was  his  to  bestow  her 


174  MALINCHE. 

As  a  chattel — a  token  of  friendship — 
On  his  friend  and  bosom  companion. 
The  anger  of  love  was  upon  her, 
And  all  of  her  beauty  shone  brightest, 
As  she  flashed  on  her  recreant  lover 
The  flaming  scourge  of  her  protest : 

"I  came  as  a  slave  to  your  camp-ground; 
You  lifted  me  out  of  my  bondage, 
For  you  knew  I  was  free  in  my  birthright. 
You  wooed  me,  and  won  me  as  lover, 
And  only  as  wife  could  have  worn  it ; 
I  have  drawn  on  your  love  as  a  garment. 
You  first  sought  me  out  as  a  sponsor, 
But  the  language  of  Spain  is  a  magnet 
That  drew  me  all  out  of  Malinche 
And  made  me  a  part  of  her  Chieftain; 
And  now  you  would  sunder  the  tendrils 
And  force  back  the  vine  from  the  branches 
Where  they  learn't  all  of  life  in  reclining, 
And  never  can  unlearn  the  lesson. 

"O,  Hernando,  you  know  not  Malinche  ! 
If  you  think  she  can  cherish  another 
In  the  heart  she  too  willingly  gave  you  ; 
Were  you  priest  of  the  Aztec  temple, 
And  should  raise  in  your  hand  the  itztli, 
To  open  the  breast  of  your  victim  ; 


M  \l  INVlil  .  '175 

My  heart  would  leap  out  at  your  calling, 

E're  the  word  of  your  summons  was  spoken. 

Ask  me  to  anticipate  Heaven, 

And  my  life  would  be  swift  in  its  fortVit. 

Hut  to  learn  the  love  of  another, 

And  to  wean  me  from  your  caresses, 

Is  beyond  the  wisdom  of  granting. 

The  logic  of  love  hath  a  limit, 

Only  God  can  re-tension  our  heart-strings. 

"  Oh,  Hernando  !  my  prince  and  my  primate, 
My  husband  on  earth  and  in  Heaven  ! 
Let  me  cling  to  your  feet  as  a  hand-maid, 
And  wash  with  my  tears,  as  another 
Did  moisten  the  feet  of  our  Savior, 
But  drive  me  not  hence  from  your  presence. 
I  can  never  love  Xamarillo — 
He  can  fetter  the  hand  of  Malinche, 
.But  her  heart  will  go  over  the  ocean 
And  will  smite  at  your  breast  when  you  proffer 
Your  hand  to  some  delicate  I  )ona. 

"  Not  alone  is  the  voice  of  my  pleading, 
But  an  angel  in  Heaven  comfronts  you  ; 
The  white  wings  of  sweet  Catalina, 
Shall  flutter  the  breath  of  your  wooing: 
You  sent  her  too  early  to  Heaven 
To  quiet  the  shade  of  her  anguish. 


I  7  6'  MALTNCHE. 

Two  wives — one  on  earth,  one  in  Heaven — 

Throw  their  love  and  your  pride  in  the  balance  ; 

And  another  whose  innocent  glances 

Should  burn  all  the  dross  from  your  nature, 

Your  child  is  a  witness  against  you ; 

Clod  has  sent  him  a  pledge  of  my  wifehood, 

To  nail  the  black  lie  of  denying. 

"  Though  no  priest  gave  the  mystical  signet, 
Surely  God  heard  the  vows  that  were  spoken 
When  our  hearts  took  their  place  at  the  wedding ; 
And  who  shall  say  nay  to  a  union, 
When  Love  gives  our  souls  to  each  other  ? 
God  is  Love,  and  no  higher  can  speak  it. 
O,  Hernando  !  be  father  and  husband, 
Be  angel  and  saint  to  Malinche  ! 
She  kneels,  as  she  would  at  God's  altar, 
To  plead  for  the  heart  you  have  broken. 
C),  turn  from  your  pride,  and  but  touch  it, 
And  it  will  bloom  over  with  blessing, 
And  will  hallow  the  hand  that  shall  heal  it !" 

All  in  vain  did  she  plead  writh  the  Chieftain; 
His  pride  was  the  bane  of  his  footsteps. 
The  angel  of  Love  would  have  held  him, 
But  the  blood  of  old  Spain  was  too  purple, 
And  smothered  her  tender  endeavor. 
The  grip  of  his  purpose  still  held  him, 


M  \l  IM'HK.  177 

And  Malinche,  now  passive  with  anguish, 
Was  given  to  Don  Xamarillo 
With  all  the  sanction  of  marriage. 
He  was  kind,  indulgent  and  loving, 
And  she  was  made  wealthy  by  Cortex, 
(living  hack  the  estate  of  her  mother 
And  much  of  the  wealth  of  the  province, 
As  if  he  would  purchase  appeasement. 
The  Chieftain  made  lavish  atonement, 
As  far  as  the  world  could  atone  her ; 
But  her  heart  was  impossible  healing. 

Though  her  charities  gave  her  some  solace, 
And  she  strove  with  the  earnest  of  pathos 
To  lose  in  the  anguish  of  others 
The  shadow  of  self  and  of  sorrow, 
Yet  she  wended  her  way,  broken-hearted  ; 
And,  as  if  like  the  spirit  of  Aztlan, 
With  the  mark  of  perpetual  sadness, 
With  the  head  bending  over  and  brooding— 
As  groping  her  way  to  the  sunset, 
Peering  out  for  the  light  that  was  passing 
For  ever  and  aye  with  the  shadows- 
She  fell  asleep  with  her  people, 
And  an  angel  was  born  in  Heaven. 

And  a  guardian  angel  descended, 
And  gathered  thy  ashes,  dead  Aztlan  ! 


178  MALINCHE. 

And  spread  her  white  wings  o'er  the  casket, 
To  wait  for  the  sound  of  the  trumpet 
That  called  thee  to  life  and  to  freedom. 
It  rode  on  the  wing  of  the  North  Wind, 
And  shook  the  whole  earth  when  it  sounded. 
And  no  plainer  hozanna  gave  echo, 
Than  arose  from  thy  halls,  Montezuma, 
When  the  shade  of  Malinche  gave  battle, 
And  the  armies  of  Spain  were  dismembered, 
As  Mexitli  arose  from  her  ashes, 
And  a  star  was  replanted  in  Heaven  ! 

And  now,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
When  lovers  await  at  the  casement, 
The  tokened  response  of  their  .ladies, 
When  Chapultepec  garlands  her  tablets 
With  the  beautiful  plumage  of  springtime, 
And  a  thousand  sprays  of  the  sunlight 
Give  her  walls  all  the  charm  of  enchantment, 
Malinche  is  seen  through  the  shadows, 
The  unsummoned  guest  at  each  wedding  ; 
The  unspoken  tryst  of  all  lovers; 
Wherever  two  hands  are  united, 
The  hand  of  a  third  presses  o'er  them. 
The  troth  of  two  hearts  is  cemented 
By  the  one  that  was  cruelly  broken. 
No  symbol  of  faith  can  be  stronger, 
Than  "The  love  that  is  true  as  Malinche's." 


MALINCHE.  179 

And  she  watches  the  fate  of  the  nation 

With  the  jealous  eye  of  a  mother, — 

A  mother,  whose  voice  more  than  others 

Tought  their  lips  the  first  lisp  of  the  Gospel, 

And  tendered  their  steps  toward  Heaven. 

A  saint,  at  whose  shrine  they  all  gather 

When  the  shadow  of  war  hovers  o'er  them, 

And  the  eagle  swoops  down  from  the  mountain 

To  cover  the  snake  with  his  talons. 

And  they  pledge  anew  to  the  banner 

That  arose  again  with  the  nation, 

When  the  three  hundred  years  of  their  bondage 

Forged  their  broken  links  into  missiles 

To  drive  Spain  into  the  ocean. 

Thus  she  holds  the  warm  palm  of  her  people 
With  a  memory  stronger  than  shadow, — 
She  lives  ;  and  the  Spirit  of  Aztlan, 
"The  beautiful  sphinx  of  the  ages," 
With  its  foot  at  the  threshold  of  empire, 
And  its  hand  on  the  pulse  of  the  sunrise, 
And  its  crown  of  all  possible  setting, 
Has  no  brighter  gem  than  Malinche. 


Blest  Mary  !  the  mother  of  God, 

And  tenderest  daughter  of  Heaven  ! 
Thou,  too,  hast  passed  under  the  rod, 


l8o  MALTNCHE. 

And  with  thy  great  sorrow  hast  striven  ! 
Shall  a  child  of  misfortune  e'er  wait 

On  this  side  the  Beautiful  City, 
When  thy  hand  is  the  turn  of  the  gate, 

And  thy  voice  hath  the  magic  of  pity  ? 
No ;  the  word  shall  be  spoken  ere  thought, 

And  the  prayer  be  granted  ere  spoken, 
And  the  gate  shall  swing  open  unsought 

To  the  heart  that  is  bleeding  and  broken. 


The  devils  that  tore  Magdalene 

May  gnash  at  the  sorrow  of  others; 
Since  a  pitying  Christ  uttered  "peace," 

Mankind  become  sisters  and  brothers. 
Our  faith  hangs  not  on  the  morrow, 

But  is  instant  and  on  the  wing ; 
With  the  common  signet  of  sorrow, 

We  pass  to  the  court  of  the  King. 


THK   HARP  OF  THK  \YKST. 


Fair  Clime  of  the  sunset !  more  richly  endowed 
Than  Hispan'  the  knightly,  or  Gallia  the  proud  — 

Where  the    lakes  of  old  Scotia  are  lost  in  the  ma/e 
Of  thy  thousand  that  mirror  their  heavy  fringed  banks 
Of  mountain  and  crag,  and  the  statliest  ranks 

That  ever  stood  sentinel-watch  to  the  gaze 
Of  a  sky  bending  closer,  and  breathing  more  near 
Than  the  heart  ever  throbbed  to  the  fall  of  a  tear. 

Though  the  soul  be  as  barren  as  Gobi's  bleak  heath 
And  the  spirit  of  song  in  the  cold  throes  of  death, 

Can  humanity  throttle  the  play  of  the  breeze 
O'er  the  harp  that  old  Nature  unwittingly  strung, 
When  the  windows  of  Heaven  wide  open  were  flung, 

For  a  thousand  years  to  thy  masterful  trees  ? 
Can  the  ear  fail  to  hear,  or  the  eye  fail  to  see 
Thy  rich  crown  !  thy  sweet  song !  great  Yo  Semite  ? 

Though  the  brow  of  Olympus  be  crowded  with  thrones, 
And  the  cliffs  of  Parnassus  resound  with  the  tones 

Of  the  Muses  that  sang  at  the  foot  of  their  god, 
Not  Apollo's  great  steeds,  nor  the  flame  of  his  car, 
Nor  Mars,  with  the  terrible  glitter  of  war, 

Can  dazzle  the  face  of  thy  sun  and  thy  sod, 


I 82  THE    HARP    OF    THE    WEST. 

Bright  Star  of  the  West !    Thou  art  Empire's  own  idol, 
The  steed  of  the  lightning,  untamed  to  the  bridle  ! 

What  is  History's  wreath  but  a  record  of  death  ! 
Time  breathes  on  the  tablet,  it  fades  with  his  breath  ; 

But  Nature  has  written  in  language  so  strong 
That  Eternity's  finger  alone  can  displace, 
And  write  its  own  letters  to  fill  up  the  space. 

Our  castles  are  mountains — our  history,  long, — 
So  long  that  we  simply  write  God  on  the  page, 
And  leave  other  Nations  to  guess  at  our  age. 

Our  song  is  the  present ;  God  fills  up  the  past, 
With  his  rock-written  letters  ;  a  volume  so  vast 

No  hand  may  transcribe  what  He  leaves  as  his  own. 
From  Sinai  we  came  with  his  prophet  of  old, 
To  the  valley  where  glitters  the  altar  of  gold- — 

Shall  we  break,  in  our  frenzy,  the  tables  of  stone? 
No  !  the  letters  are  fresh,  and  deep  graven  the  hand. 
Far  too  sacred  our  charge  !  As  He  writ,  let  them  stand  ! 

When  these  tablets  of  Nature  shall  yield  to  the  brain, 
And  some  bard  shall  interpret  the  words  they  contain, 

What  a  song  shall  burst  forth  from  the  prison    of 

thought! 

As  his  hand  shall  pass  over  the  magical  strings, 
And  each  chord  at  his  touch  into  unison  springs, 

As  the  wing  of  his  impulse  is  hastily  caught, 
No  harp  more  divine  in  the  turn  of  the  earth 
Shall  throb  to  the  measures  of  sorrow  and  mirth  ! 


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